own fireside. I went to the Mayos', but the fair Maria is out of town.
On the way I stopped at Bowler's Tavern to see his man about that filly
we were talking of, and I had a glass with old Bowler himself. He let
out a piece of news. Who d'ye think is in town and under Bowler's
roof?--Aaron Burr!"

There was a silence, then Cary said quietly, "Aren't you mistaken,
Fair?"

"Not in the least," answered the other. "He came in a sloop from
Baltimore yesterday. It is not known that he's in town; he does not want
it known. He's keeping quiet,--perhaps he has another duel on his
conscience. I don't believe old Bowler knew he had let the cat out. Burr
leaves to-morrow. He was out visiting to-night."

"How do you know that?" Cary demanded, with sudden sharpness.

"Bowler's best bedroom in darkness--no special preparations for
supper--Burr's man idling in the kitchen--mine host taking no cake to
speak low,--in short, the wedding guest was roaming. I wonder where he
was!"

The elder Cary raised and drained the glass of wine. He knew where Aaron
Burr had supped and passed the evening, and a coldness that was not of
the night crept upon him. As for Lewis Rand, he cared not what he did
nor why he did it, but for Jacqueline Churchill. This had been the
client from the country! All the time she was keeping it secret that
Burr was there. She had turned pale. No wonder!--the faithful wife!

"Take care, that glass is thin--you'll break it!" warned the younger
Cary, but the glass had snapped in the elder's fingers.

"Pshaw!" said Cary; "too frail for use! I'm off to bed, Fair. That bill
comes up to-morrow, and it means a bitter fight. Good-night,--and I say,
Fair, hold your tongue about Aaron Burr. Good-night!"

In his room he put out the candle, parted the window curtains, and
looked upon Orion, icily splendid in the midnight sky. "What is there
that is steadfast?" he thought. "Does she love him so?" He stood for a
long time looking out into the night. He thought of that evening at
Fontenoy when he had come in from the sultry and thunderous air and had
found Rand seated in the drawing-room and Jacqueline at her harp,
singing To Althea,--

"Minds innocent and quiet take
That for a hermitage."

The words and the vision of Fontenoy that night were yet with him when
at last he turned from the window and threw himself upon the bed, where
he finally fell asleep with his arm flung up and across his eyes.

CHAPTER