said; "he will not stir an inch now; I must
come down and let him out at night."

Yet she beat him, and pulled him, and called
him all manner of bad names, in the last hope
to waken him up to reason and retreat. But
Sam snored on, and only swore or struck out
or growled unintelligibly; so she was forced to
leave him as he was. Then she walked across
the room with the heaviest step she could
command, knocking the chairs as she passed, and
clattering the fire-irons; and when she got to
the door, she opened it noisily and shut it again
with a loud slam, walking over the hall in the
same way, and wishing "Good-night" at the
door, which she shut also with a fierce bang,
coming back in her usual light tripping step.
Then she locked the dining-room door— she
double-locked it— and dropped the key on the
mat; and then she called down the kitchen
stairs; "I have locked up the dining-room,
Annie, and put out the fire and gas; the gentleman's
gone, and there's nothing to do."

"I'll just look at that brandy-bottle
tomorrow," said Annie, "and see why she let him
out in such a nasty mean way. He warn't too
sober, I'll be bound."

"It ain't your business, Annie," said the cook,
"and it's my advice to you to keep out of hot
water when you can, for it ain't pleasant to be
scalded."

"He's gone, Laura dear!" said Mrs. Broughton
airily, tripping into the drawing-room,
where Laura, in expectation of her husband's
return, had come back; "so now you need not be
afraid any longer."

"It is the last day I mean to be afraid," said
Laura, a little sullenly.

Her mother looked at her keenly. "Very
well," she said; "take your own course, my dear,
and when you have taken it, think of me and my
words."

And then there was silence again— and only
the pitiless wind and rain howled and tore
through the streets.

"Gordon!" cried Laura, when a knock came
to the door; and ran out into the hall to meet
him.

"Wet through, and as hungry as a hunter,"
said Gordon, shaking himself. "Here, Annie,
take my things, and get me something to eat at
once. We have been in this pelting rain ever
since six o'clock, and I have not had even a
glass of beer." (He had been out with his men,
down to Wimbledon, for practice.)

"Come into the drawing-room, you poor
drowned rat," cried Mrs. Broughton. "See
what a beautiful fire we have, and how bright it
all looks," opening the door, and letting out the
light and warmth like a flood. "Come and have
your supper in here for once."

"Against the rules!" said Gordon, shaking
his head good naturedly— his hand on the dining-
room door.

"Oh, but you cannot go in there, indeed,"
said Mrs. Broughton, quite warmly; she was so
anxious, you see, for his comfort. "I turned
off the gas, and put out the fire myself, and you
cannot positively have supper there! Come
into the drawing-room like a rational being, and
don't be stupid. Annie!" And she flung her
head up as a signal.

"What does the wife say?" said Gordon, for
Laura's sudden bounding to him, so unlike what
had been of late, had delighted him into a
playfulness unusual to him.

"I think you had better come into the
drawing-room," she answered, cold again in a
moment. "Mamma has not put the things
away," she thought, "and there will only be
more falsehoods."

So he went into the drawing-room without
further ado, but with the edge of his joy
blunted; and Annie brought him the cold
beef, which had so strangely diminished that
even he noticed it; in silence. He asked for
the brandy.

"I will go for it, Laura love; don't you
trouble," said Mrs. Broughton, cheerily.

"What a shame! Let me go," said Gordon,
making a feint to rise.

"I dare say, you poor tired thing!" the little
woman cried, bustling out of the room, laughing
and dancing her flaxen ringlets merrily.
"You villain! if you are not quiet, I will give
you up to the police," she said in a low whisper
to Sam; wide awake now.

"All right, mother," was that gentleman's
rejoinder. He had no intention of being
anything but quiet; and to better ensure that, and
escape detection, he slunk behind the curtain
and covered himself up in it— fingering
something in his pocket meanwhile.

Mrs. Broughton filled up the vacuum in the
decanter as well as she could with a remnant
left in the bottle, and a dash of cold water as a
make-weight; and when she went back to her
son, she took care to mix the grog herself; and
so this too passed off, and Gordon made no
remark.

Still the same howling wind, and the pitiless
rain; still the same wild sobs and moans in the
air, like the souls of the lost come back to the
scene of their sins and their sorrows; still the
same sense of danger hanging round the night,
and of evil threatening the future. Laura could
not sleep for those ghastly noises; and even
Gordon, tired as he was, was feverish and
disturbed, and restless like herself.

"What is that!" he cried suddenly, starting
up and listening. Laura started up and listened
too. It was a small grating noise, such as
might be made by a file, and sounded like the
filing of a bolt. It sounded like the filing of
the bolt in the dining-room, as well as they
could judge. Presently it ceased, and then they
both distinctly heard a door open, and a soft
and stealthy foot creeping up the stairs.

"Some one is in the house!" cried Gordon,
dashing on his clothes, and flung open the
bedroom door:— flung it open face to face with a
swarthy, shabby, ill-conditioned man, stealing
across the passage with bare feet, and holding a
dark lantern in his hand.

A muttered oath on the one side, but nothing