still for the amusing disappointment in his gallant, young face.

"I am sorry to have robbed you of a pleasant chase," said I. "At
one time I should have been the first to join you. But, to tell you
the truth, I've had enough excitement lately to last me for my life."

"I can believe that," he answered, with his fine eyes full upon me.
How strangely I had misjudged him! I saw no vulgar curiosity in his
flattering gaze, but rather that very sympathy of which I stood in
need. I offered him my hand.

"It is very good of you to give in," I said. "No one else has heard
a thing, you see. I shall look for another opportunity of thanking
you to-morrow."

"No, no!" cried he, "thanks be hanged, but - but, I say, if I
promise you not to bore you about things - won't you drink a glass
of brandy-and-water in my room before you turn in again?"

Brandy-and-water being the very thing I needed, and this young man
pleasing me more andmore, I said that I would join him with all my
heart, and returned to my room for my dressing-gown and slippers.
To find them, however, I had to light my candles, when the first
thing I saw was the havoc my marauder had left behind him. The
mirror was cracked across; the dressing-table had lost a leg; and
both lay flat, with my brushes and shaving-table, and the foolish
toilet crockery which no one uses (but I should have to replace)
strewn upon the carpet. But one thing I found that had not been
there before: under the window lay a formidable sheath-knife without
its sheath. I picked it up with something of a thrill, which did