ents after
sounding alarm with the ancient knocker. Framed in the door, he was a
picturesque figure. His abundant white hair hung straight down over his
ears, and curled outward at the ends; his short beard was snowy, but
there was healthful ruddiness on his face, and though his figure, tall
above the average, stooped a bit, he walked briskly ahead of them into
the library, crying delighted welcome over his shoulder. His meeting
with Thelismer Thornton had been almost an embrace.

"And this boosting big chap is Harlan--my grand-baby, Vard! Guess you
used to see him at 'The Barracks' when he was smaller. Since then he's
been trying to outgrow one of our spruce-trees."

The ex-Governor gave Harlan his left hand. The empty sleeve of the right
arm was pinned to the shoulder.

"The old Yankee stock doesn't need a step-ladder to stand on to light
the moon, so they used to say."

He rolled chairs close to each other and urged them to sit, with the
anxious hospitality of the old man who has grown to prize the narrowing
circle of his intimates.

"Smoke, Thelismer," he pleaded. "Stretch out and smoke. I always like to
see you smoke. You take so much comfort. I sometimes wish I'd learned to
smoke. Old age gets lonely once in a while. Perhaps a good cigar might
be a consolation."

"So you do get lonesome sometimes, Vard?" inquired the Duke.

"It's a lonesome age when you're eighty, comrade. You probably find it
so yourself. There are so few of one's old friends that live to be
eighty."

Then they fell into discourse, eager, wistful reminiscences such as come
to the lips of old friends who meet infrequently. The young man, sitting
close in the circle, listened appreciatively. This courtly old soldier,
lawyer, Governor, and kindly gentleman had been to him since boyhood, as
he had to the understanding youth of his State, an ideal knight of the
old regime. And so the hours slipped past, and he sat listening.

The calm night outside was breathlessly still, except for the drone of
insects at the screens, attracted by the glow of the library lamp. A
steeple clock clanged its ten sonorous strokes, and still the old men
chatted on, and the Duke had not hinted at his errand.

The General suddenly remembered that he had in the cellar some home-made
wine, and he asked the young man to come with him, as lamp-bearer.

"The good wife would have thought of that little touch of hospitality
long ago, my son," he said, as they walked do