r a moment looking out into the night.
She could not see him, nor could he see her features at all plainly,
but he knew that she, like him, was alone with the catastrophe which his
wickedness had sent upon her. Soon the curtain was drawn down again,
and then he went once more to the house and took his old seat beside
the table. He fell to brooding, and at last, exhausted, dropped to a
troubled sleep. He woke with a start. Some one was in the room. He heard
a step behind him. He came to his feet quickly, a wild light in his
eyes. He faced his brother Richard.

Late in the afternoon Marion had telegraphed to Richard that Frank was
coming. He had been away visiting some poor and sick people, and when he
came back to Greyhope it was too late to catch the train. But the horses
were harnessed straightway, and he was driven into town, a three-hours'
drive. He had left the horses at the stables, and, having a latch-key,
had come in quietly. He had seen the light in the study, and guessed who
was there. He entered, and saw his brother asleep. He watched him for a
moment and studied him. Then he moved away to take off his hat, and, as
he did so, stumbled slightly. Then it was Frank waked, and for the first
time in five years they looked each other in the eyes. They both stood
immovable for a moment, and then Richard caught Frank's hand in both of
his and said: "God bless you, my boy! I am glad you are back."

"Dick! Dick!" was the reply, and Frank's other hand clutched Richard's
shoulder in his strong emotion. They stood silent for a moment longer,
and then Richard recovered himself. He waved his hand to the chairs. The
strain of the situation was a little painful for them both. Men are shy
with each other where their emotions are in play.

"Why, my boy," he said, waving a hand to the spirits and liqueurs, "full
bottles and unopened boxes? Tut, tut! here's a pretty how-d'ye-do. Is
this the way you toast the home quarters? You're a fine soldier for an
old mess!"

So saying, he poured out some whiskey, then opened the box of cigars and
pushed them towards his brother. He did not care particularly to drink
or smoke himself, but a man--an Englishman--is a strange creature. He is
most natural and at ease when he is engaged in eating and drinking.
He relieves every trying situation by some frivolous and selfish
occupation, as of dismembering a partridge, or mixing a punch.

"Well, Frank," said his brother, "now what have you to say