he man might bluster, but was in a moment reduced.

"Top," said the stranger, leaning forward a little, "I have asked you
a simple question: _Will_ you or _won't_ you?"

"I will not!"

In exasperation the man struck my uncle on the cheek.

"I'll not hurt ye for that!" said my uncle, gently. "I'll not hurt ye,
man, for that!"

He was struck again. "There will come an extremity," the stranger calmly
added, "when I shall find it expedient to have you assassinated."

"I'll not hurt ye for the threat," said my uncle. "But man," he cried,
in savage anger, "an you keeps me from workin' my will with the
lad--"

"The lad, the lad!"

"An you keeps me from workin' my will with that good lad--"

"I say to you frankly: Damn the lad!"

My uncle struck the stranger. "Ye'll mend your manners!" cried he.
"Ye've forgot your obligations, but ye'll mend your manners!"

I marvelled that these men should strike each other with impunity. The
like was never known before. That each should patiently bear the
insult of the other! I could not make it out. 'Twas strange beyond
experience. A blow--and the other cheek turned! Well enough for
Christians--but my vicious uncle and this evil stranger! That night,
while I watched and listened unperceived from the hall, I could not
understand; but now I know that a fellowship of wickedness was
signified.

"I'll not hurt you, Top," the stranger mocked, "for the blow."

My uncle laughed.

"Are you laughing, Top?" the stranger sneered. "You are, aren't you?
Well," says he, "who laughs last laughs best. And I tell you, Top,
though you may seem to have the best laugh now, I'll have the last.
And you won't like it, Top--you won't be happy when you hear me."

My uncle laughed again. I wish he had not laughed--not in that unkind
way.

"Anyhow," said the stranger, "take that with my compliments!"

'Twas a brutal blow with the closed fist. I cried out. My uncle, with
the sting and humiliation of the thing to forbear, was deaf to the
cry; but the gray little man from St. John's, who knew well enough he
would have no buffet in return, turned, startled, and saw me. My
uncle's glance instantly followed; whereupon a singular thing
happened. The old man--I recall the horror with which he discovered
me--swept the lamp from the table with a swing of his hand. It
hurtled like a star, crashed against the wall, fell shattered and
extinguished. We were in darkness--and in silence. For a long interval
no w