another crisis were over.

"He's there?" he demanded sharply.

"Huh," said Brutus.

"Now heaven be praised for that," said my father, with something that was
a close approach to fervor. "I was beginning to wonder if, perhaps,
something had happened."

Mademoiselle looked up at him demurely.

"The captain has good news?" she asked.

He turned to her and smiled his blandest smile.

"Under the circumstances," he said, "the best I could expect."

Still smiling, he smoothed his coat and squared his shoulders.

"Our little melodrama, my lady, is drawing to its close."

XI

The sun had finally broken through the clouds, and already its rays were
slanting into the room, falling softly on the dusty furniture, and
making the shadows of the vines outside dance fitfully on the wall by
the fire; and the shadows of the elms were growing long and straight
over the rain soaked leaves, and the rank, damp grass of our lawn. It
was the dull, gentle sunshine of an autumn afternoon, soft and kindly,
and yet a little bleak.

"Yes," said my father, "it is nearly over. It turns into a simple matter,
after all. I wonder, Mademoiselle, will you be sorry? Will you ever
recall our weeks on the high-road? I shall, I think. And the Inn in
Britanny, with Brutus up the road, and Ned Aiken swearing at the post
boys. At least we were living life. And the _Eclipse_--I told you they
would never beat us on a windward tack. I told you, Mademoiselle, the
majority of mankind were very simple people."

"And you still feel so?" she asked him.

"Now more than ever," said my father. "I had almost hoped there would
be one sane man among the dozens outside, but they all have the brains
of school boys. No wonder the world moves so slowly, and great men seem
so great."

And he wound the handkerchief around his hand again.

"The captain has arranged to sell the paper?" asked Mademoiselle.

"Exactly," said my father. "The price has been fixed, and I shall deliver
it myself as soon as the day grows a little darker. I am sorry, almost.
It has not been uninteresting."

"No," said Mademoiselle, "it has not been uninteresting."

"You are pale, my son," said my father, turning to me. "I trust you are
not hurt?"

I shook my head.

"It is only your pride? You will be better soon. Come, we have always
been good losers. We have always known when the game was up. Let us see
if we cannot end it gracefully, as gentlemen should. You cannot get the