little queer. For the matter of that, she don't mind a spree herself at
times." And, emptying his glass, the libertine laughed at the
remembrance of some past orgies.

While he was thus, in his half-drunken mood, consoling himself for
present perplexities by dwelling upon the bacchanalian joys of other
days, a carriage drove up the street, and stopped before the door. Soon
afterward, the hall bell was rung, and Philip, alarmed and astonished,
started from his seat.

"Who's that?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"Don't know," replied his companion.

"She couldn't have traced me here already--unless you have betrayed me,
Bradshaw," he added suddenly, darting a suspicious glance upon his
comrade.

"You're just drunk enough to be a fool," replied Bradshaw, rising from
his seat, as a second summons, more violent than the first, echoed
through the corridors. "I'll go down and see what's the matter. Some
one's mistaken the house, I suppose. That's all."

"Let no one in, Bradshaw," cried Philip, as that worthy left the room.
He descended the stairs, opened the door, and presently afterward the
carriage drove rapidly away. Philip, who had been listening earnestly,
could hear the sound of the wheels as they whirled over the pavement.

"All right," he said, as he applied himself once more to the bottle
before him. "Some fool has mistaken his whereabouts. Curse me, but I'm