object than a man suffering under mental and
moral defeat. He has lost faith in himself. He has tried, he has
failed; and he usually throws his defeat in the face of Providence,
accusing the Almighty of desertion. Windybank did so. Desperate with
anger and humiliation, he went to his own private sanctum. Father
Jerome and Basil were already there, awaiting him. Windybank could not
repress a start of surprise when he found that the ex-monk had
outstripped him. He had hoped for a few minutes of quiet thought
before facing Jerome. A quick wave of anger swept over him when he
realized how closely he was "shadowed." His footsteps dogged if he
went abroad; his privacy was broken, without so much as a "by your
leave," if he stayed at home; he was treated as a puppet, a cat's-paw,
a thing that must move only according to the will of another. A flash
of light showed him the utter depth of his degradation; and the two
basilisks that sat staring and motionless before him were the
instruments that had accomplished his undoing. A wild yearning for
freedom and vengeance arose in his heart.

"We have been waiting for thee since early morn, my son," said Jerome,
breaking the silence. The tone of the speaker's voice was cold, hard,
and threatening. The menace in it stung Windybank into rebellion.

"And why should ye not wait?" he cried. "Who, in God's name, are ye to
establish yourselves unbidden in my house, dog my steps, threaten me,
ruin me with my friends and neighbours, and treat me as though I were a
child without will, aims, or desires of mine own? Ye have tarried for
me; tarry on until doomsday. Henceforth I'll be master of myself!"
Furious with passion, Master Andrew turned to the door.

The effect of this outburst was electric. Jerome sat as one stupefied,
and for a bare instant Basil gazed as stonily as he; but he recovered
in time to prevent the young man's departure. The yellow-faced fanatic
was as quick-handed as he was quick-witted. Windybank had lifted the
latch, and his fingers were on the door pulling it open. Basil drew
his dagger, held it, poised, by the blade for a moment, then cast it
with great force and precision. Master Andrew felt a hot pain in his
hand, tried to pluck it back to his body, and failed; it was pinned
fast to the door. Basil came forward, drew out the dagger, and led his
host to the feet of Father Jerome.

"Thou art drunk," he said meaningly--"drunk with the poison of a