patron of Art. Rushbrook
made no attempt to recover his lost prestige, and once, when squeezed
into a tight "corner," and forced to realize on his treasures, he put
them up at auction and the people called them "daubs;" their rage
knew no bounds. It was then that an unfettered press discovered that
Rushbrook never was a Maecenas at all, grimly deprecated his assumption
of that title, and even doubted if he were truly a millionaire. It was
at this time that a few stood by him--notably, the mill inventor from
Siskyou, grown plethoric with success, but eventually ground between the
upper and nether millstone of the Somers and Rushbrook party. Miss Nevil
had returned to the Atlantic States with Mrs. Leyton. While rumors
had played freely with the relations of Somers and the Signora as the
possible cause of the rupture between him and Rushbrook, no mention had
ever been made of the name of Miss Nevil.

It was raining heavily one afternoon, when Mr. Rushbrook drove from his
office to his San Francisco house. The fierce struggle in which he was
engaged left him little time for hospitality, and for the last two weeks
his house had been comparatively deserted. He passed through the
empty rooms, changed in little except the absence of some valuable
monstrosities which had gone to replenish his capital. When he reached
his bedroom, he paused a moment at the open door.

"James!"

"Yes, sir," said James, appearing out of the shadow.

"What are you waiting for?"

"I thought you might be wanting something, sir."

"You were waiting there this morning; you were in the ante-room of my
study while I was writing. You were outside the blue room while I sat
at breakfast. You were at my elbow in the drawing-room late last night.
Now, James," continued Mr. Rushbrook, with his usual grave directness,
"I don't intend to commit suicide; I can't afford it, so keep your time
and your rest for yourself--you want it--that's a good fellow."

"Yes, sir."

"James!"

"Yes, sir."

Rushbrook extended his hand. There was that faint, rare smile on his
handsome mouth, for which James would at any time have laid down his
life. But he only silently grasped his master's hand, and the two
men remained looking into each other's eyes without a word. Then Mr.
Rushbrook entered his room, lay down, and went to sleep, and James
vanished in the shadow.

At the end of an hour Mr. Rushbrook awoke refreshed, and even James, who
came to call him, appeared to