y who had let
Connie and Agnes in the night before, was attending to it. Two men with
rough faces--one of them went by the name of Corkscrew, and the other
was known as Nutmeg--were standing also within the region of the warm
and generous fire. But the man on whom Connie fixed her pretty eyes,
when she softly opened the door and in all fear made her appearance, was
of a totally different order of being.

He was a tall man, quite young, not more than thirty years of age, and
remarkably handsome. He had that curious combination of rather fair hair
and very dark eyes and brows. His face was clean-shaven, and the
features were refined and delicate without being in the least
effeminate; for the cruel strength of the lower jaw and firmly shut lips
showed at a glance that this man had a will of iron. His voice was
exceedingly smooth and gentle, however, in intonation.

When he saw Connie he stepped up to her side and, giving her a gracious
bow, said:

"Welcome to the kitchen, young lady."

"It's Stylites--bob yer curtsy," whispered Agnes in Connie's ear.

So Connie bobbed her curtsy. Was this the man she was to be so
dreadfully afraid of? Her whole charming little face broke into a smile.

"I'm so glad as you're Stylites!" she said.

The compliment, the absolutely unexpected words, the charm of the smile,
had a visible effect upon the man. He looked again at Connie as though
he would read her through and through; then, taking her hand, he led her
to the breakfast-table.

"Freckles," he said, "put a clean plate and knife on the table. That
plate isn't fit for a young lady to eat off."

Freckles grinned from ear to ear, showing rows of yellow teeth. He
rushed off to wash the plate in question, and returned with it hot and
shining to lay again before Connie's place. Simeon Stylites himself
helped the little girl to the choicest pieces of bacon, to delicate
slices of white bread, and to any other good things which were on the
table. As he did this he did not speak once, but his eyes seemed to be
everywhere. No one dared do a thing on the sly. The rough-looking men,
Corkscrew and Nutmeg, were desired in a peremptory tone to take their
mugs of tea to another table at the farther end of the great room. One
of them ventured to grumble, and both cast angry glances at Connie.
Stylites, however, said, "Shut that!" and they were instantly mute as
mice.

The boy Freckles also took his breakfast to the other table; but Agnes
sa