long thin throat. A sharp gust of cold wind made the lamps flicker as
he threw open the hall-door. His two children listened to the dull fall
of his footsteps as he slowly picked out the winding garden path.

"He gets worse--he becomes intolerable," said Robert at last.
"We should not have let him out; he may make a public exhibition of
himself."

"But it's Hector's last night," pleaded Laura. "It would be dreadful if
they met and he noticed anything. That was why I wished him to go."

"Then you were only just in time," remarked her brother, "for I hear the
gate go, and--yes, you see."

As he spoke a cheery hail came from outside, with a sharp rat-tat at the
window. Robert stepped out and threw open the door to admit a tall
young man, whose black frieze jacket was all mottled and glistening with
snow crystals. Laughing loudly he shook himself like a Newfoundland
dog, and kicked the snow from his boots before entering the little
lamplit room.

Hector Spurling's profession was written in every line of his face. The
clean-shaven lip and chin, the little fringe of side whisker, the
straight decisive mouth, and the hard weather-tanned cheeks all
spoke of the Royal Navy. Fifty such faces may be seen any night of the
year round the mess-table of the Royal Naval College in Portsmouth
Dockyard--faces which bear a closer resemblance to each other than
brother does commonly to brother. They are all cast in a common mould,
the products of a system which teaches early self-reliance, hardihood,
and manliness--a fine type upon the whole; less refined and less