to keep it from rattling in the wind. Slipping the bolt with the blade
of his pocket-knife he peered into the dark passage. The light streaming
under a door to the left, and the sound of voices, convinced him that
his conjecture was right, and the meeting was gathered on the broad
balconies around the patio. He knew that a narrow gallery, faced with
Venetian blinds to exclude the sun, looked down upon them. He managed to
gain it without discovery; luckily the blinds were still down; between
their slats, himself invisible, he could hear and see everything that
occurred.

Yet even at this supreme moment the first thing that struck him was the
almost ludicrous contrast between the appearance of the meeting and
its tremendous object. Whether he was influenced by any previous boyish
conception of a clouded and gloomy conspiracy he did not know, but
he was for an instant almost disconcerted by the apparent levity and
festivity of the conclave. Decanters and glasses stood on small tables
before them; nearly all were drinking and smoking. They comprised
fifteen or twenty men, some of whose faces were familiar to him
elsewhere as Southern politicians; a few, he was shocked to see, were
well-known Northern Democrats. Occupying a characteristically central
position was the famous Colonel Starbottle, of Virginia. Jaunty and
youthful-looking in his mask-like, beardless face, expansive and
dignified in his middle-aged port and carriage, he alone retained some
of the importance--albeit slightly theatrical and affected--of the
occasion. Clarence in his first hurried glance had not observed his
wife, and for a moment had felt relieved; but as Colonel Starbottle
arose at that moment, and with a studiously chivalrous and courtly
manner turned to his right, he saw that she was sitting at the further
end of the balcony, and that a man whom he recognized as Captain
Pinckney was standing beside her. The blood quickly tightened around his