ough a small conservatory, aglow with blooms, and so
at once into the sanctum where the master of the house awaited him.
Perfect in its way as the library was, Alban had no eyes for it in the
presence of Richard Gessner whom thus he met for the first time. Here,
truly, he might forget even the accident of the portrait. For he stood
face to face with a leader among men and he was clever enough to
recognize as much immediately.

Richard Gessner was at that time fifty-three years of age. A man of
medium height, squarely built and of fine physique, he had the face
rather of a substantial German than of the usually somewhat cadaverous
Pole. A tousled black beard hid the jowl almost completely; the eyes
were very clear and light blue in color; the head massive above the neck
but a little low at the forehead. Alban noticed how thin and fragile the
white hand seemed as it rested upon a strip of blotting-paper upon the
writing-table; the clothes, he thought, were little better than those
worn by any foreman in Yarrow's works; the tie was absolutely shabby and
the watch-chain nothing better than two lengths of black silk with a
seal to keep them together. And yet the mental power, the personal
magnetism of Richard Gessner made itself felt almost before he had
uttered a single word.

"Will you take a seat, Mr. Kennedy--I am dining in the city to-night and
my time is brief. Mr. Geary, I think, has spoken to you of my
intentions."

Alban looked the speaker frankly in the face and answered without
hesitation:

"He has told me that you wish to employ me, sir."

"That I wish to employ you--yes, it is not good for us to be idle. But
he has told you something more than that?"

"Indeed," the curate interrupted, "very much more, Mr. Gessner. I have
told Kennedy that you are ready and willing to take an interest, the
greatest possible interest, in his future."

The banker--for as such Richard Gessner was commonly known--received the
interjection a little impatiently and, turning his back slightly, he
fixed an earnest look upon Alban's face and watched him critically while
he spoke.

"Mr. Kennedy," he said, "I never give my reasons. You enter this house
to confer a personal obligation upon me. You will remain in that spirit.
I cannot tell you to-night, I may be unable to tell you for many years
why you have been chosen or what are the exact circumstances of our
meeting. This, however, I may say--that you are fully entitled to the