drank slowly and deliberately.
When he set the glass down it was empty.

"Duson!"

"Your Grace!"

"You will pack my things and your own. We shall leave for New York this
evening. Telegraph to the Holland House for rooms."

"For how many days, your Grace?"

"We shall not return here. Pay off all the servants save two of the most
trustworthy, who will remain as caretakers."

The man's face was as immovable as his master's.

"And Madame?"

"Madame will not be returning. She will have no further use for her
maid. See, however, that her clothes and all her personal belongings
remain absolutely undisturbed."

"Has your Grace any further orders?"

"Take pencil and paper. Send this cablegram. Are you ready?"

The man's head moved in respectful assent.

"To Felix,
"No 27, Rue de St. Pierre,
"Avenue de L'Opera, Paris.
"Meet me at Sherry's Restaurant, New York, one month to-day, eleven
p.m.--V. S."

"It shall be sent immediately, your Grace. The train for New York leaves
at seven-ten. A carriage will be here in one hour and five minutes."

The man moved towards the door. His master looked up.

"Duson!"

"Your Grace!"

"The Duc de Souspennier remains here--or at the bottom of the lake--what
matters! It is Mr. Sabin who travels to New York, and for whom you
engage rooms at the Holland House. Mr. Sabin is a cosmopolitan of
English proclivities."

"Very good, sir!"

"Lock this door. Bring my coat and hat five minutes before the carriage
starts. Let the servants be well paid. Let none of them attempt to see
me."

The man bowed and disappeared. Left to himself, Mr. Sabin rose from his
chair, and pushing open the windows, stood upon the verandah. He leaned
heavily upon his stick with both hands, holding it before him. Slowly
his eyes traveled over the landscape.

It was a very beautiful home which he was leaving. Before him stretched
the gardens--Italian in design, brilliant with flowers, with here and
there a dark cedar-tree drooping low upon the lawn. A yew hedge bordered
the rose-garden, a fountain was playing in the middle of a lake. A
wooden fence encircled the grounds, and beyond was a smooth rolling
park, with little belts of pine plantations and a few larger trees here
and there. In the far distance the red flag was waving on one of the
putting greens. Archie Green was strolling up the hillside,--his pipe
in his mouth, and his driver under his arm. Mr. Sabin watched,