a quiet house, one
of the many which housed in cavernous depths uncounted clerks and other
small fry of the city. "Good-night to you," said Peter Niburg. Then,
rather tardily. "And my thanks. But for you I should now--" he shrugged
his shoulders.

"Good-night, friend," said Nikky. "And better keep your bed to-morrow."

He had turned away, and Peter Niburg entered the house.

Nikky inspected himself in the glow of a street lamp. Save for
some dust, and a swollen lip, which he could not see, he was not
unpresentable. Well enough, anyhow, for the empty streets. But before
he started he looked the house and the neighborhood over carefully. He
might wish to return to that house.

For two hours he walked, and resumed his interrupted train of
thought--past the gloomy University buildings, past the quay, where
sailed the vessels that during peaceful times went along the Ar through
the low lands of Karnia to the sea. At last, having almost circled the
city, he came to the Cathedral. It was nearly midnight by the clock in
the high tower. He stopped and consulted his watch. The fancy took him
to go up the high steps, and look out over the city from the colonnade.

Once there, he stood leaning against a column, looking out. The sleeping
town appealed to him. Just so had it lain in old feudal times, clustered
about the church and the Palace, and looking to both for protection. It
had grown since then, had extended beyond the walls which sheltered
it, had now destroyed those walls and, filling in the moat, had built
thereon its circling parks. And other things had changed. No longer, he
reflected gloomily, did it look to the palace, save with tolerance and
occasional disloyalty. The old order was changing. And, with all his hot
young heart, Nikky was for the old order.

There was some one coming along the quiet streets, with a stealthy,
shuffling gait that caught his attention. So, for instance, might a
weary or a wounded man drag along. Exactly so, indeed, had Peter Niburg
shambled into his house but two hours gone.

The footsteps paused, hesitated, commenced a painful struggle up the
ascent. Nikky moved behind his column, and waited. Up and up, weary step
after weary step. The shadowy figure, coming close, took a form, became
a man--became Peter Niburg.

Now, indeed, Nikky roused. Beaten and sorely bruised, Peter Niburg
should have been in bed. What stealthy business of the night brought him
out?

Fortunately for Nikky'