effects of the changes of temperature.
It would be a poor kindness to bring them back to my smoking-room
drenched through, and with the seeds of a violent cold. The crystal has
to be kept warm, too, otherwise vapour would deposit, and you would have
your view spoiled. But must you really go? Then here we are back in the
smoking-room. I hope that it will not be your last visit by many a one.
And if I may come down to Elmdene I should be very glad to do so. This
is the way through the museum."

As Robert McIntyre emerged from the balmy aromatic atmosphere of the
great house, into the harsh, raw, biting air of an English winter
evening, he felt as though he had been away for a long visit in some
foreign country. Time is measured by impressions, and so vivid and novel
had been his feelings, that weeks and weeks might have elapsed since his
chat with the smoke-grimed stranger in the road. He walked along with
his head in a whirl, his whole mind possessed and intoxicated by the one
idea of the boundless wealth and the immense power of this extraordinary
stranger. Small and sordid and mean seemed his own Elmdene as he
approached it, and he passed over its threshold full of restless
discontent against himself and his surroundings.

CHAPTER V. LAURA'S REQUEST.

That night after supper Robert McIntyre poured forth all that he had
seen to his father and to his sister. So full was he of the one subject
that it was a relief to him to share his knowledge with others. Rather
for his own sake, then, than for theirs he depicted vividly all
the marvels which he had seen; the profusion of wealth, the regal
treasure-house of gems, the gold, the marble, the extraordinary devices,
the absolute lavishness and complete disregard for money which was shown
in every detail. For an hour he pictured with glowing words all
the wonders which had been shown him, and ended with some pride by
describing the request which Mr. Raffles Haw had made, and the complete
confidence which he had placed in him.

His words had a very different effect upon his two listeners. Old
McIntyre leaned back in his chair with a bitter smile upon his lips, his
thin face crinkled into a thousand puckers, and his small eyes shining
with envy and greed. His lean yellow hand upon the table was clenched
until the knuckles gleamed white in the lamplight. Laura, on the other
hand, leaned forward, her lips parted, drinking in her brother's words
with a glow of colour upo