arisen and brushed his scheme aside. He had sown the wind and was
reaping a cyclone, and he swore to himself, and hardened his heart
against the innocent cause of his trouble, and thought once of suicide
as he had on the St. John's the year before. He spent money, just the
same, upon his handsome grounds; but it was only for the pride he had in
keeping them up, and not for any pleasure he had in them. He never
picked a flower, or sat on any of the seats under the trees, and, unless
the day was very hot, was seldom seen upon his broad piazza, where every
day Peter spread rugs and placed chairs because his master liked to see
them there, if they were not used. His library was his favorite place,
where he sat for hours reading, smoking, and thinking, no one knew of
what, or tried to know, for he was not a man to be easily approached, or
questioned as to his business. If he had malaria it clung to him year
after year, while he grew more reserved and silent, and saw less and
less of the people. Proud as Lucifer they called him, and yet, because
he was a Crompton, and because of the money he gave so freely when it
was asked for, he was not unpopular; and when the town began to grow in
importance on account of its fine beach and safe bathing, and a movement
was made to change its name from Troutburg to something less plebeian,
Crompton was suggested, and met with general approval. No one was better
pleased with the arrangement than the Colonel himself, although he did
not smile when the news was brought to him. He seldom smiled at
anything, but there was a kindling light in his eyes, and his voice
shook a little as he thanked the committee who waited upon him. To be
known as "Col. Crompton of Crompton" was exceedingly gratifying to his
vanity, and seemed in a way to lift the malarious cloud from him for a
time at least.

It was more than three years since Tom Hardy's letter had thrown him
into a chill, and everything as yet was quiet. Nothing had come from the