WOUNDED IN THE HOUSE OF A FRIEND.

CHAPTER I.





SNOW had been falling for more than three hours, the large flakes
dropping silently through the still air until the earth was covered
with an even carpet many inches in depth.

It was past midnight. The air, which had been so still, was growing
restless and beginning to whirl the snow into eddies and drive it
about in an angry kind of way, whistling around sharp corners and
rattling every loose sign and shutter upon which it could lay its
invisible hands.

In front of an elegant residence stood half a dozen carriages. The
glare of light from hall and windows and the sound of music and
dancing told of a festival within. The door opened, and a group of
young girls, wrapped in shawls and waterproofs, came out and ran,
merrily laughing, across the snow-covered pavement, and crowding
into one of the carriages, were driven off at a rapid speed.
Following them came a young man on whose lip and cheeks the downy
beard had scarcely thrown a shadow. The strong light of the
vestibule lamp fell upon a handsome face, but it wore an unnatural