lar ambitions had seamed his
soul.

"Good evening, Amherst. I'm down with a confounded cold."

"I'm sorry to hear it," the young man forced himself to say.

"Can't get my breath--that's the trouble." Truscomb paused and gasped.
"I've just heard that Mrs. Westmore is here--and I want you to go
round--tomorrow morning--" He had to break off once more.

"Yes, sir," said Amherst, his heart leaping.

"Needn't see her--ask for her father, Mr. Langhope. Tell him what the
doctor says--I'll be on my legs in a day or two--ask 'em to wait till I
can take 'em over the mills."

He shot one of his fugitive glances at his assistant, and held up a bony
hand. "Wait a minute. On your way there, stop and notify Mr. Gaines. He
was to meet them here. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Amherst; and at that moment Mrs. Truscomb appeared on
the threshold.

"I must ask you to come now, Mr. Amherst," she began haughtily; but a
glance from her husband reduced her to a heaving pink nonentity.

"Hold on, Amherst. I hear you've been in to Hanaford. Did you go to the
hospital?"

"Ezra--" his wife murmured: he looked through her.

"Yes," said Amherst.

Truscomb's face seemed to grow smaller and dryer. He transferred his
look from his wife to his assistant.

"All right. You'll just bear in mind that it's Disbrow's business to
report Dillon's case to Mrs. Westmore? You're to confine yourself to my
message. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear. Goodnight," Amherst answered, as he turned to follow
Mrs. Truscomb.

* * * * *

That same evening, four persons were seated under the bronze chandelier
in the red satin drawing-room of the Westmore mansion. One of the four,
the young lady in widow's weeds whose face had arrested Miss Brent's
attention that afternoon, rose from a massively upholstered sofa and
drifted over to the fireplace near which her father sat.

"Didn't I tell you it was awful, father?" she sighed, leaning
despondently against the high carved mantelpiece surmounted by a bronze
clock in the form of an obelisk.

Mr. Langhope, who sat smoking, with one faultlessly-clad leg crossed on
the other, and his ebony stick reposing against the arm of his chair,
raised his clear ironical eyes to her face.

"As an archaeologist," he said, with a comprehensive wave of his hand, "I
find it positively interesting. I should really like to come here and
dig."

There were no lamps in the room, and the numerou