shot. Don't you remember quarreling with me the other day for doing so,
Charley?"

Charley's face of perplexity and disgust was irresistible. We all
laughed. "What a _guignon_ I have," he said. "Mr. Raymond, I believe you
were in the robbery."

"Not I," was the answer. "I was as much surprised as any one. I think,"
he went on, lowering his tone, "Guy is right; he changed his aim, as you
spoke, involuntarily, or he _must_ have missed."

Then we turned homeward through the twilight.

I do not know if the reminiscence of his lost "pony" was rankling in
Forrester's mind, or if he was only affected by the presence of Sir
Henry Fallowfield--an immoral Upas, under whose shadow the most
flourishing of good resolutions were apt to wither and die; but
certainly, after dinner, he broke through the cautious reserve which he
had always in public maintained toward Miss Raymond since Bruce's
arrival. He not only talked to her incessantly, but tempted her to sing
with him, during which performance they seemed rapidly lapsing into the
old confidential style.

Bruce sat apart, the shades on his rugged face gradually deepening from
sullenness into ferocity. He looked quite wolfish at last, for it was a
habit he had to show his white teeth more when he was savage than when
he smiled. But the music went on its way rejoicing,


"Unconscious of their doom,