hour of the day,
and Mr. Lamotte nodded graciously here and there, and stopped to extend
a patronizing hand to a chosen and honored few. Presently he came face
to face with a man who, with hands in his pockets, was watching the
unloading of a belated dray.

"How do you do, Brooks," said he, glancing at the hands and face that
were a little cleaner than usual, and at the pretence of a toilet that
made the awkwardness of the fellow unusually apparent. "You seem taking
a holiday. Are you bound to leave us?"

"That's what I am, sir," said the man, touching his hat. "Work's too
scarce for me, sir, and bad company's too plenty. I've said I would go a
dozen times, sir; and now I'm off."

"I am sorry we could not keep you on at the mills, Brooks; but--you know
who was to blame."

"Oh, it was me, sir; I don't deny _that_. It's hard for me to keep away
from the liquor. But look here, Mr. Lamotte, sir: If you ever see me
again, _you'll see me sober_."

[Illustration: "If you ever see me again, you'll see me sober."]

Mr. Lamotte uttered a skeptical laugh and turned away. The train was
there, and it bore cityward the gentlemanly Mr. Lamotte, and the
half-inebriated loafer, Brooks.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A DAY OF GLOOM.

All that day, or what remained of it after his father's departure, and
the almost simultaneous withdrawal of the private detective, Frank
Lamotte passed in an uneasy reverie. He had much at stake; and, now that
the crisis of his fortunes was so near at hand, he began to review his
ground, and every word, look, and tone of Constance Wardour, as he
recalled them, one by one, was to him a fresh puzzle.

Six months ago, Frank Lamotte would have scoffed at the suggestion of a
refusal even from the proud Constance. Now, somehow, he had lost his
self-confidence. Again and again he imagined the words that he would
say, and the words he hoped, that she would answer. Then, as he forced
himself to face the possibility of defeat, the veins upon his temples
swelled out, his teeth clenched, and one of those "attacks," to which he
was subject, and against which Doctor Heath had warned him, seemed
imminent. Again and again he gazed, with proud satisfaction, upon his
reflected image, in the full length drawing-room mirror, and turned
away, vowing himself a fitting mate for any woman. Again and again, when
the image of his own physical perfections had ceased to dazzle his
vision, his heart sank within him, and a dismal