My father's countenance softened.

"My good friend," he said, gently, "we are none of us safe for even a
day, or an hour; but after all, that which we call danger is merely a
relative position. I have known men in a state more precarious than
yours who lived to a long old age, and I see no reason to doubt that
with good living, good spirits, and precaution, you stand as fair a
chance as another."

The little Frenchman pressed his hands together in token of gratitude,
whispered a broken word or two of thanks, and bowed himself out of
the room.

When he was fairly gone, my father flung a book at my head, and said,
with more brevity than politeness:--

"Boy, bolt the door."



CHAPTER III.

THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING.

"Basil, my boy, if you are going to that place, you must take Collins
with you."

"Won't you go yourself, father?"