ing at my throat. I have succeeded so that
there is not a man in town who would not be glad to see me on a yard
arm. And yet they are waiting, Mademoiselle. Is it not amusing? Can you
guess why they are waiting?"

He took a pinch of snuff and dusted his fingers.

"Because they fear that I may burn the paper if they disturb me.
They believe if they keep hidden, if I do not suspect, that I may
venture forth. They hope to take me alive, or kill me, and still
obtain the paper. Indeed, it is their one hope. It would be a pity
to disappoint them."

His lips had parted, and his eyes were shining in the candle light.

"There are few things which move me now, my lady. All that I really enjoy
is an amusing situation, and this one is very amusing. Do you think I
have crossed the ocean to deliver this document, and then I shall stop?
No, Mademoiselle, you are mistaken."

He bowed again, and stepped backwards towards the door.

"Pray do likewise, Mademoiselle, and forget," he said. "There is nothing
in this little episode fit for you to remember. It is not you they are
after, and you will be quite safe here. I have made sure of that. My son
will remain until your brother arrives, and will dispense what
hospitality you require.

"I trust," he added, turning to me, "you still remember why you have
been here?"

"Indeed, yes," I answered.

"Then it is good-bye, Henry. I shall not bother to offer you my hand.
Brutus, you will remain with my son until a quarter to seven."

Even now I cannot tell what made a mist come over my eyes and a lump in
my throat any more than I can explain my subsequent actions on that
evening. Was it possible I was sorry to see the last of him? Or was it
simply self pity that shortened my breath and made my voice seem broken
and discordant?

"And after that?" I asked.

He looked at me appraisingly, tapping his thin fingers on his sword hilt.

"After that--" He stared thoughtfully at the shadows of the
darkened room. Was he thinking as I was, of the wasted years and
what the end would be?

"After that," he repeated, half to himself, "come, I will make an
appointment with you after that--on the other side of the Styx, my son.
I shall be waiting there, I promise you, and we shall drink some corked
ambrosia. Surely the gods must give a little to the shades, or at any
rate, Brutus shall steal some. And then perhaps you shall tell me what
happened after that. I shall look forward--I shall hope, even,