the house for my luggage besides my private apartment.'

Then the door was shut with a bang, and Harold heard the sliding of the
bolt as Arthur Tracy fastened himself in his room.




CHAPTER VIII.

ARTHUR.


All the time that Frank Tracy had been receiving his guests and trying
to seem happy and at his ease, his thoughts had been dwelling upon his
brother's telegram and the ominous words, 'Send some one to meet us.'
How slowly the minutes dragged until it was ten o'clock, and he knew
that John had started for the station to meet the dreaded '_us_.' He had
told everybody that he was expecting his long-absent brother, and had
tried to seem glad on account of it.

'You and he were great friends, I believe,' he said to Squire
Harrington.

'Yes, we were friends,' the latter replied; 'but when he lived here my
health was such that I did not mingle much in society. I met him,
however, in Paris four years ago, and found him very companionable and
quite Europeanized in his manner and tastes. He spoke French or German
altogether, and might easily have passed for a foreigner. I shall be
glad to see him.'