ings, his host was not to be trifled with in any matter that
interfered with his work. He would act swiftly and without mercy.

For the first time in many days Ernest thought of Abel Felton. Poor boy!
What had become of him after he had been turned from the house? He would
not wait for any one to tell him to pack his bundle. But then, that was
impossible; Reginald was fond of him.

Suddenly Ernest's meditations were interrupted by a noise at the outer
door. A key was turned in the lock. It must be he--but why so soon? What
could have brought him back at this hour? He opened the door and went
out into the hall to see what had happened. The figure that he beheld
was certainly not the person expected, but a woman, from whose shoulders
a theatre-cloak fell in graceful folds,--probably a visitor for
Reginald. Ernest was about to withdraw discreetly, when the electric
light that was burning in the hallway fell upon her face and illumined
it.

Then indeed surprise overcame him. "Ethel," he cried, "is it you?"

XXIII

Ernest conducted Ethel Brandenbourg to his room and helped her to remove
her cloak.

While he was placing the garment upon the back of a chair, she slipped a
little key into her hand-bag. He looked at her with a question in his
eyes.

"Yes," she replied, "I kept the key; but I had not dreamed that I would
ever again cross this threshold."

Meanwhile it had grown quite dark. The reflection of the street lanterns
without dimly lit the room, and through the twilight fantastic shadows
seemed to dance.

The perfume of her hair pervaded the room and filled the boy's heart
with romance. Tenderness long suppressed called with a thousand voices.
The hour, the strangeness and unexpectedness of her visit, perhaps even
a boy's pardonable vanity, roused passion from its slumbers and once
again wrought in Ernest's soul the miracle of love. His arm encircled
her neck and his lips stammered blind, sweet, crazy and caressing
things.

"Turn on the light," she pleaded.

"You were not always so cruel."

"No matter, I have not come to speak of love."

"Why, then, have you come?"

Ernest felt a little awkward, disappointed, as he uttered these words.

What could have induced her to come to his rooms? He loosened his hold
on her and did as she asked.

How pale she looked in the light, how beautiful! Surely, she had
sorrowed for him; but why had she not answered his letter? Yes, why?

"Your letter?" She smi