Maggs--in Boston."

He lifts his light, keen eyes for one second to Laurence Thorndyke's,
then drops them to the sands. The red flush deepens on the young man's
blonde face, his blue eyes flash steely fire.

"By Heaven, you have!" he exclaims, in a suppressed voice. "Has the
drunken fool--"

Liston interrupts again:

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Laurence, but if you will step aside with me, I
would like to say a few words to you. Meantime, here are two
letters--one from your uncle, the other--"

"H'm! All right Liston!" Thorndyke says, hastily, and with a warning
glance. "My uncle has sent you to hunt me up as usual, I suppose."

"As usual, Mr. Laurence. He commands your immediate presence in New
York."

Again the color mounts to the young man's face, again his eyes flash
angry fire.

"Do you mean to say, Liston, that you or that d---- snivelling hypocrite,
Maggs--"

"Mr. Thorndyke," says Mr. Liston, interrupting for the third time, and
raising his voice slightly, "I have a word to say to you in private--if
the young lady will excuse you."

He bows in a sidelong sort of way to Norine, and watches her furtively
beneath his drooping eyelids. She is standing very still, her eyes on
one of the letters--a square, perfumed, rose-colored letter superscribed
in a lady's delicate tracery, and bearing the monogram "H. H." Thorndyke
thrusts both abruptly into his pocket, and draws her aside.

"Go back to the house, Norine," he says hastily. "I must hear what this
fellow has to say. He's secretary--confidential clerk, valet, factotum
generally, to my uncle. And I wish the devil had him before he ever
found me out here!"

She obeys passively, very pale, still.

"That------snivelling hypocrite, Maggs!" she is repeating inwardly.
"What a dreadful way to speak of a clergyman!"

Mr. Thorndyke rejoins Mr. Liston, a scowl on his face, his brows
lowering and angry.

"Well?" he demands, savagely.

"Well," the new-comer's quiet voice repeats, "don't lose your temper,
Mr. Laurence--I haven't done anything. Your uncle told me to hunt you
up, and I have hunted you up--that is all."

"When did he tell you, confound him?"

"One week ago, Mr. Laurence."

"A week ago? I thought you said--"

"That I met Maggs three weeks ago? So I did. That he was beastly drunk?
So he was. That he told me all? So he did. That I have kept my eyes upon
you, off and on, ever since? So I have. Mr. Laurence, Mr. Laurence, I
wonder you're not afrai