cing, and how long the party would last. His head was beginning
to ache with the glare and gas; his little legs were tired, and he was
growing sleepy. Surely he might sit down now, particularly as Mrs. St.
Claire had suggested it, and bringing himself a chair from one of the
rooms he sat down in a corner of the hall and was soon in a sound sleep,
from which, however, he was roused by the sound of Mr. Tracy's voice, as
he came up the stairs, followed by a tall, distinguished-looking man,
who wore a Spanish cloak wrapped gracefully around him, and a large,
broad-brimmed hat drawn down so closely, as to hide his features from
view.

As he reached the upper landing he raised his head, and Harold, who was
now wide awake and standing up, caught a glimpse of a thin, pale face
and a pair of keen, black eyes, which seemed for an instant to take
everything in; than the head was dropped, and the two men disappeared in
a room at the far end of the hall.

'I'll bet that's Mr. Arthur. How grand he is! looks just like a pirate
in that cloak and hat,' was Harold's mental comment.

Before he had time for further thought, Frank Tracy came from the room
and hurried down the stairs to rejoin his guests.

Five minutes later and the door at the end of the long hall which
communicated with the back staircase and the rear of the house, opened,
and a man whom Harold recognized as the expressman from the station
appeared with a huge trunk on his shoulder and a large valise in his
hand. These he deposited in the stranger's room and then went back for
more, until four had been carried in. But when he came with the fifth
and largest of all, a hand, white and delicate as a woman's, was thrust
from the door-way with an imperative gesture, and a voice with a decided
foreign accent exclaimed:

'For heaven's sake, don't bring any more boxes in here. Why, I am
positively stumbling over them now. Surely there must be some place in
the house for my luggage besides my private apartment.'

Then the door was shut with a bang, and Harold heard the sliding of the
bolt as Arthur Tracy fastened himself in his room.

CHAPTER VIII.

ARTHUR.

All the time that Frank Tracy had been receiving his guests and trying
to seem happy and at his ease, his thoughts had been dwelling upon his
brother's telegram and the ominous words, 'Send some one to meet us.'
How slowly the minutes dragged until it was ten o'clock, and he knew
that John had started for the