ere none the less
shrewd. Melrose's strange character with its mixture of sagacity, folly,
and violence, had never been more acutely probed--though quite
indirectly.

At the end of them his companion rose.

"You have a talent for cross-examination," he said with a rather sour
smile. "I leave you. We have talked enough."

"Let me at least express before you go the gratitude I feel for proposals
so flattering--so generous," said Faversham, not without emotion; "and
for all the kindness I have received here, a kindness that no man could
ever forget."

Melrose looked at him oddly, seemed about to speak--then muttered
something hardly intelligible, ceased abruptly, and departed.

* * * * *

The master of the Tower went slowly to his library through the splendid
gallery, where Mrs. Dixon and the new housemaid were timidly dusting. But
he took no notice of them. He went into his own room, locked his door,
and having lit his own fire, he settled down to smoke and ruminate. He
was exhausted, and his seventy years asserted themselves. The radical
alteration in his habits and outlook which the preceding six weeks had
produced, the excitement of unpacking the treasures now displayed in the
gallery, the constant thinkings and plannings connected with Faversham
and the future, and, lastly, the interview just concluded, had tried
his strength. Certain symptoms--symptoms of old age--annoyed him though
he would not admit it. No doubt some change was wanted. He must smoke
less--travel less--give himself more variety and more amusement. Well, if
Faversham consented, he should at least have bought for himself a
companionship that was agreeable to him, and relief from a number of
routine occupations which he detested.

Suddenly--a child's voice--a child's shrill voice, ringing through the
gallery--followed by scufflings and hushings, on the part of an older
person--then a wail--and silence. Melrose had risen to his feet with an
exclamation. Some peculiar quality in the voice--some passionate,
thrilling quality--had produced for the moment an extraordinary illusion.

He recovered himself in a moment. It was of course the child of the
upholstress who had been working in the house for a week or so. He
remembered to have noticed the little girl. But the sound had inevitably
suggested thoughts he had no wish to entertain. He had a letter in his
pocket at that moment which he did not mean to answer--the fir