te the words
seemed to be. In very truth had the shadows been stealing across the sky
that evening, and they had not yet dispersed. Brockman, the man without,
was still hovering darkly, like a cloud, over that house. Again the
singers within raised their voices:

"Through the long night-watches,
May Thine angels spread
Their white wings above us,
Watching round each bed."

Paul echoed those words very earnestly in his heart as his hand clasped
tightly the letter for which he had risked so much. The room was an
addition to the house, and led by a separate door into the garden. When
the singing had ended, Paul stepped softly to the door and knocked
gently on it with his knuckles. It was opened by one of the servants.
The light of the lamp fell upon Paul as the door opened, and the eyes of
all in the room turned to him as he stood there, with the letter in his
hand.

"Can I see Mr. Moncrief?"

"I am Mr. Moncrief. What is it you want with me, my lad?" said that
gentleman stepping forward.

[Illustration: "'I AM MR. MONCRIEF,' SAID THAT GENTLEMAN, STEPPING
FORWARD."]

"I've brought a letter from your brother, Mr. Henry Moncrief. He
couldn't bring it himself, because of an accident----"

"An accident?"

"Nothing very serious, sir. A sprain, I think. He asked me to take the
letter for him, and as he's the father of a school chum of mine, Stan
Moncrief; I brought it along, and here it is," Paul explained rapidly,
as he handed Mr. Moncrief the letter.

Paul had by this time entered the room. Directly Mr. Moncrief glanced at
the letter his face became very grave. He went from the room, and his
wife followed him, evidently as anxious as himself to know the contents.
The servants retired, and Paul was thus left alone with the boy and
girl.

There was not the least shyness about the former, for directly his
parents left the room, he came forward and introduced himself.

"I'm Harry Moncrief--named after the uncle you brought that letter from.
He was my godfather, you know. This is my sister, Connie." Connie, who
was a pretty, fair girl, looked embarrassed at her brother's blunt
method of introduction, but he rattled on. "Rather good for a girl. Not
so slow as most of them. Can take a turn with the bells or clubs"--by
bells and clubs was meant dumb-bells and Indian-clubs--"and she can
scout at cricket. Didn't I hear you say you were a chum of cousin
Stanley's?"

"Yes; we're in the same Form."