of the library, where they are sitting. It is a small door hidden by
a portiere leading into another corridor that connects itself with the
servants' part of the house.

As this door is gently pushed open, a head protrudes itself cautiously
into the room, though, on account of the hanging curtains, it is quite
invisible to the other occupants of the apartment. A figure follows the
head, and stands irresolutely on the threshold, concealed from
observation, not only by the curtain, but by a Japanese screen that is
placed just behind Sir Christopher's head.

It is a crouching, forlorn, debased figure, out of which all manliness
and fearlessness have gone. A figure crowned by gray hair, yet gaining
no reverence thereby, but rather an additional touch of degradation.
There is, too, an air of despondency and alarm about this figure to-day
new to it. It looks already an outcast, a miserable waif, turned out to
buffet with the angry winds of fortune at the very close of his life's
journey. There is a wildness in his bloodshot eyes, and a nervous tremor
in his bony hand, as it clutches at the curtain for support, that
betrays the haunting terror that is desolating him.

"I don't care," says Sir Christopher, obdurately. "I have suffered too
much at his hands; I owe him nothing but discomfort. I tell you my mind
is made up, Fabian; he leaves me at once, and forever."

At this, the crouching figure in the doorway shivers, and shakes his
wretched old head, as though all things for him are at an end. The storm
seems to burst with redoubled fury, and flings itself against the panes,
as though calling upon him to come out and be their pastime and their
sport.

"My dear Sir Christopher," says Fabian, very quietly, yet with an air of
decision that can be heard above the fury of the storm, "it is
impossible you can turn the old man out _now_, at his age, to _again_
solicit Fortune's favor. It would be terrible."

At this calm, but powerful intervention of Fabian's, the old head in the
doorway (bowed with fear and anxiety) raises itself abruptly, as though
unable to believe the words that have just fallen upon his ears. He has
crept here to listen with a morbid longing to contemptuous words uttered
of him by the lips that have just spoken; and lo! these very lips have
been opened in his behalf, and naught but kindly words have issued from
them.

As the truth breaks in upon his dulled brain that Fabian has actually
been defending h