he latter made
haste to answer it in person.

His adoptive father received him with open arms, and such a joy in his
face, such a light in his old eyes as should have gladdened his visitor,
yet only served sadden him the more. He sighed as Sir Richard thrust him
back that he might look at him.

"Ye're pale, boy," he said, "and ye look thinner." And with that he fell
to reviling the deed that was the cause of this, Rotherby and the whole
brood of Ostermore.

"Let be," said Mr. Caryll, as he dropped into a chair. "Rotherby is
undergoing his punishment. The town looks on him as a cut-throat who has
narrowly escaped the gallows. I marvel that he tarries here. An I were
he, I think I'd travel for a year or two."

"What weakness made you spare him when ye had him at the point of your
sword?"

"That which made me regret that I had him there; the reflection that he
is my brother."

Sir Richard looked at him in some surprise. "I thought you of sterner
stuff, Justin," he said presently, and sighed, passing a long white hand
across his bony brow. "I thought I had reared you to a finer strength.
But there! What of Ostermore himself?"

"What of him?"

"Have you not talked again with him of the matter of going over to King
James?"

"To what end, since the chance is lost? His betrayal now would involve
the betrayal of Atterbury and the others--for he has been in touch with
them."

"Has he though? The bishop said naught of this."

"I have it from my lord himself--and I know the man. Were he taken
they'd wring out of him whatever happened to be in him. He has no
discretion. Indeed, he's but a clod, too stupid even to be aware of his
own stupidity."

"Then what is to be done?" inquired Sir Richard, frowning.

"We'd best get home to France again."

"And leave matters thus?" He considered a moment, and shook his head,
smiling bitterly. "Could that content you, Justin? Could you go as you
have come--taking no more than you brought; leaving that man as you
found him? Could you?"

Mr. Caryll looked at the baronet, and wondered for a moment whether he
should persevere in the rule of his life and deal quite frankly with
him, telling him precisely what he felt. Then he realized that he would
not be understood. He could not combat the fanaticism that was Sir
Richard's in this matter. If he told him the truth; how he loathed
the task; how he rejoiced that circumstances had now put it beyond
his reach--all he would achieve wou