llowed Mrs. Malcolm.

They went into the drawing-room beyond--across a hallway, and up a
half-flight of stairs, and through glass doors. "Play for us!" said Mrs.
Malcolm, and Burnaby, that remarkable young man, sat down to the piano
and for perhaps an hour made the chords sob to a strange music, mostly
his own.

"That's Bewsher!" he said when he was through, and had sat back on his
stool, and was sipping a long-neglected cordial.

"Br-r-r-!" shivered Mrs. Selden from her place by the fire. "How
unpleasant you are!"

Sir John looked troubled. "I hope," he said, "my story hasn't depressed
you too much. Burnaby's was really worse, you know. Well, I must be
going." He turned to Mrs. Malcolm. "You are one of the few women who can
make me sit up late."

He bade each in turn good-night in his suave, charming, slightly Hebraic
manner. To Burnaby he said: "Thank you for the music. Improvisation is
perhaps the happiest of gifts."

But Burnaby for once was awkward. He was watching Sir John's face with
the curious, intent look of a forest animal that so often possessed his
long, dark eyes. Suddenly he remembered himself. "Oh, yes," he said
hastily, "I beg your pardon. Thanks, very much."

"Good-night!" Sir John and Lady Masters passed through the glass doors.

Burnaby paused a moment where he had shaken hands, and then, with the
long stride characteristic of him, went to the window and, drawing aside
the curtain, peered into the darkness beyond. He stood listening until
the purr of a great motor rose and died on the snow-muffled air. "He's
gone!" he said, and turned back into the room. He spread his arms out
and dropped them to his sides. "Swastika!" he said. "And God keep us
from the evil eye!"

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Malcolm.

"Sir John," said Burnaby. "He has 'a bad heart.'"

"Stop talking your Indian talk and tell us what you mean."

Burnaby balanced himself on the hearth. "Am I to understand you don't
know?" he asked. "Well, Morton's Masters, and 'the girl's' Lady Masters,
and Bewsher--well, he's just a squaw-man."

"I don't believe it!" said Mrs. Malcolm. "He wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't dare?" Burnaby laughed shortly. "My dear Minna, he'd dare
anything if it gave him a sense of power."

"But why--why did he choose us? We're not so important as all that?"

"Because--well, Bewsher's name came up. Because, well, you heard what he
said--self-revelation--men who had sweated. Because--" suddenly Burnaby
t