awed by the silence, half frighted by the shadows on the wall; now filled
with natural grief, now with surreptitious and shamefaced thoughts of his
changed estate,--yesterday son and dependent, to-day heir and master!
Twelve years! The sigh and the smile were not for the dead father, but for
his own dead youth, for the unjaded freshness of the morning, for the
world that had been, once upon a time.

Turning in his seat, his eyes fell upon the man who had followed him, and
who was now standing between the table and the door. "Well, friend?" he
demanded.

The man came a step or two nearer. His hat was in his hand, and his body
was obsequiously bent, but there was no discomposure in his lifeless voice
and manner. "I stayed to explain my presence in the house, sir," he said.
"I am a lover of reading, and, knowing my weakness, your overseer, who
keeps the keys of the house, has been so good as to let me, from time to
time, come here to this room to mingle in more delectable company than I
can choose without these walls. Your Honor doubtless remembers yonder
goodly assemblage?" He motioned with his hand toward a half-opened door,
showing a closet lined with well-filled bookshelves.

"I remember," replied Haward dryly. "So you come to my room alone at
night, and occupy yourself in reading? And when you are wearied you
refresh yourself with my wine?" As he spoke he clinked together the bottle
and glass that stood beside the books.

"I plead guilty to the wine," answered the intruder, as lifelessly as
ever, "but it is my only theft. I found the bottle below, and did not
think it would be missed. I trust that your Honor does not grudge it to a
poor devil who tastes Burgundy somewhat seldomer than does your Worship.