ing restored to her.

"I heard of it, lad, in London," quoth he, a leer upon his sallow
face--"the story of how a fire-eater named Galliard befriended you,
trussed a parson and a trooper, and dragged you out of jail a short hour
before hanging-time."

Kenneth flushed. He felt the sneer in Joseph's, words like a stab. The
man's tone implied that another had done for him that which he would
not have dared do for himself, and Kenneth felt that this was so said in
Cynthia's presence with malicious, purpose.

He was right. Partly it was Joseph's way to be spiteful and venomous
whenever chance afforded him the opportunity. Partly he had been
particularly soured at present by his recent discomforts, suffered in a
cause wherewith he had no, sympathy--that of the union Gregory desired
'twixt Cynthia and Kenneth.

There was an evil smile on his thin lips, and his crooked eyes rested
tormentingly upon the young man. A fresh taunt trembled on his viperish
tongue, when Gregory plucked at the skirts of his coat, and drew him
aside. They entered the chamber where they had held their last interview
before Joseph had set out for news of Kenneth. With an air of mystery
Gregory closed the door, then turned to face his brother. He stayed him
in the act of unbuckling his sword-belt.

"Wait, Joseph!" he cried dramatically. "This is no time to disarm. Keep
your sword on your thigh, man; you will need it as you never yet have
needed it." He paused, took a deep breath, and hurled the news at
his brother. "Roland Marleigh is here." And he sat down like a man
exhausted.

Joseph did not start; he did not cry out; he did not so much as change
countenance. A slight quiver of the eyelids was the only outward sign
he gave of the shock that his brother's announcement had occasioned. The
hand that had rested on the buckle of his sword-belt slipped quietly
to his side, and he deliberately stepped up to Gregory, his eyes set
searchingly upon the pale, flabby face before him. A sudden suspicion
darting through his mind, he took his brother by the shoulders and shook
him vigorously.

"Gregory, you fool, you have drunk overdeep in my absence."

"I have, I have," wailed Gregory, "and, my God, 'twas he was my
table-fellow, and set me the example."

"Like enough, like enough," returned Joseph, with a contemptuous laugh.
"My poor Gregory, the wine has so fouled your worthless wits at last,
that they conjure up phantoms to sit at the table with you. Co