e drawn away from
the book-shelves to listen to his story, and the old professor was
compelled to turn away from the fire and to talk, at that, to the back
of the young man's head.

Nicolovius, so he told Queed, was not an American at all, but an
Irishman, born at Roscommon, Connaught. His grandfather was a German,
whence he got his name. But the lad grew up in the image of his mother's
people. He became an intense patriot even for Ireland, an extremist
among extremists, a notorious firebrand in a land where no wood glows
dully. Equipped with a good education and natural parts, he had become a
passionate leader in the "Young Ireland" movement; was a storm-centre
all during the Home Rule agitations; and suddenly outgrew Ireland
overnight during the "Parnellism and Crime" era. He got away to the
coast, disguised as a coster, and once had the pleasure of giving a lift
in his cart to the search-party who wanted him, dead or alive. This was
in the year 1882.

"You were mixed up in the Phoenix Park murders, I daresay?" interjected
Queed, in his matter-of-fact way.

"You will excuse my preference for a certain indefiniteness," said
Nicolovius, with great sweetness.

On this side, he had drifted accidentally into school-teaching, as a
means of livelihood, and stuck at it, in New York, St. Paul, and, for
many years, in Chicago. The need of a warmer climate for his health's
sake, he said, had driven him South, and some three years before an
appointment at Milner's Collegiate School had brought him to the city
which he and the young man now alike called their own.

Queed, still sacking the shelves for another find, asked if he had never
revisited Ireland.

"Ah, no," said Nicolovius, "there was no gracious pardon for my little
peccadillo, no statute of limitations to run after me and pat me on the
head. I love England best with the sea between us. You may fancy that a
refugee Irishman has no fondness for reading history."

He flicked the fire-ash from his cigar and looked at Queed. All the time
he talked he had been watching the young man, studying him, conning him
over....

"My life ended when I was scarcely older than you. I have been dead
while I was alive.... God pity you, young man, if you ever taste the
bitter misery of that!"

Queed turned around surprised at the sudden fierceness of the other's
tone. Nicolovius instantly sprang up and went over to poke the fire; he
came back directly, smiling easily and pulling