familiarity; but I
respected the truce, as, I am bound to say, did Northmour, and so long
as the danger continued not a cloud arose in our relation. I bear him
this testimony with the most unfeigned satisfaction; nor am I without
pride when I look back upon my own behaviour. For surely no two men were
ever left in a position so invidious and irritating.

As soon as I had done eating, we proceeded to inspect the lower floor.
Window by window we tried the different supports, now and then making an
inconsiderable change; and the strokes of the hammer sounded with
startling loudness through the house. I proposed, I remember, to make
loopholes; but he told me they were already made in the windows of the
upper story. It was an anxious business, this inspection, and left me
down-hearted. There were two doors and five windows to protect, and,
counting Clara, only four of us to defend them against an unknown number
of foes. I communicated my doubts to Northmour, who assured me, with
unmoved composure, that he entirely shared them.

"Before morning," said he, "we shall all be butchered and buried in
Graden Floe. For me, that is written."

I could not help shuddering at the mention of the quicksand, but
reminded Northmour that our enemies had spared me in the wood.

"Do not flatter yourself," said he. "Then you were not in the same boat
with the old gentleman; now you are. It's the floe for all of us, mark
my words."

I trembled for Clara; and just then her dear voice was heard calling us
to come upstairs. Northmour showed me the way, and, when he had reached
the landing, knocked at the door of what used to be called _My Uncle's
Bedroom_, as the founder of the pavilion had designed it especially for
himself.

"Come in, Northmour; come in, dear Mr. Cassilis," said a voice from
within.

Pushing open the door, Northmour admitted me before him into the
apartment. As I came in I could see the daughter slipping out by the
side-door into the study, which had been prepared as her bedroom. In the
bed, which was drawn back against the wall, instead of standing, as I
had last seen it, boldly across the window, sat Bernard Huddlestone, the
defaulting banker. Little as I had seen of him by the shifting light of
the lantern on the links, I had no difficulty in recognising him for
the same. He had a long and sallow countenance, surrounded by a long red
beard and side-whiskers. His broken nose and high cheek-bones gave him
somewhat the