d of me,
Miss Grey. No? Before your time, I suppose. Besides, I didn't call
myself St. Paul then; I took on that name in America; it's my mother's
family name; that's how you wouldn't remember about me, even if you had
heard. You know the mausoleum in the park, I dare say?"

"Very well indeed. It used to be a favorite place with me."

"Ah, yes. My last offence was shooting off pistols there--aiming at the
heads over the entrance, you know. One of them will carry my mark to his
last day, I believe."

"Yes; I remember noticing that the face of Death has a mark on it--a
small hole."

He laughed again.

"Just so. That's my mark. Poor father! It was the great whim of his life
to build that confounded thing, and he didn't enjoy it after all. My
brother, I am told, proposes to occupy part of it in good time. They
won't put me there, you may be sure."

"Your brother is the Duke?" Minola said, a faint memory returning to her
about a wild youth of the family who had had to leave the army in some
disgrace, and went away somewhere beyond seas.

"Yes; I thought I told you, or that Money had mentioned it. Yes; I was
the good-for-nothing of the family. You can't imagine, though, what a
number of good-for-nothings are doing well out Denver City way, out in
Colorado. When I was there, there were three fellows from the Guards,
and some fellows I knew at Eton, all growing cattle, and making money,
and hunting buffalo, and potting Indians, and making themselves
generally as happy as sandboys. I've made money myself, and might have
made a lot more, I dare say."

Mr. St. Paul evidently delighted to hear himself talk.

"It must be a very dangerous place to live in," Minola said, wishing he
would talk to somebody else.

"Well, there's the chance of getting your hair raised by the Indians. Do
you know what that means--having your hair raised?"

"I suppose being scalped."

"Exactly. Well, that's a danger. But it isn't so much a danger if you
don't go about in gangs. That's the mistake fellows make; they think
it's the safe thing to do, but it isn't. Go about in parties of two, and
the Indians never will see you--never will notice you."

Minola's eyes happened at this moment to meet those of Heron.

"You know Heron?"

"Oh, yes; very well."

"A good fellow--very good fellow, though he has such odd philanthropic
fads about niggers and man and a brother, and all that sort of thing.
Got into a nice mess out there in St. Xavier's,