office. He worked for some time at his desk, and then laid his pen
aside, put away his papers methodically, placing a large envelope on
his private secretary's vacant table. He then opened the office door
and ascended the staircase. He stopped on the first landing to listen
to the sound of rain on the glass skylight, that seemed to echo through
the empty hall like the gloomy roll of a drum. It was evident that the
searching water had found out the secret sins of the house's
construction, for there were great fissures of discoloration in the
white and gold paper in the corners of the wall. There was a strange
odor of the dank forest in the mirrored drawing-room, as if the rain
had brought out the sap again from the unseasoned timbers; the blue and
white satin furniture looked cold, and the marble mantels and centre
tables had taken upon themselves the clamminess of tombstones. Mr.
Mulrady, who had always retained his old farmer-like habit of taking
off his coat with his hat on entering his own house, and appearing in
his shirt-sleeves, to indicate domestic ease and security, was obliged
to replace it, on account of the chill. He had never felt at home in
this room. Its strangeness had lately been heightened by Mrs.
Mulrady's purchase of a family portrait of some one she didn't know,
but who, she had alleged, resembled her "Uncle Bob," which hung on the
wall beside some paintings in massive frames. Mr. Mulrady cast a
hurried glance at the portrait that, on the strength of a high
coat-collar and high top curl--both rolled with equal precision and
singular sameness of color--had always glared at Mulrady as if HE was
the intruder; and, passing through his wife's gorgeous bedroom, entered
the little dressing-room, where he still slept on the smallest of cots,
with hastily improvised surroundings, as if he was a bailiff in
"possession." He didn't linger here long, but, taking a key from a
drawer, continued up the staircase, to the ominous funeral marches of
the beating rain on the skylight, and paused on the landing to glance
into his son's and daughter's bedrooms, duplicates of the bizarre
extravagance below. If he were seeking some characteristic traces of
his absent family, they certainly were not here in the painted and
still damp blazoning of their later successes. He ascended another
staircase, and, passing to the wing of the house, paused before a small
door, which was locked. Already the ostentatious decora