d the piano.

Briscoe also started toward the instrument, to open it for her. "Mrs.
Royston and I will be a generous audience and applaud enthusiastically.
But stop--what is that?"

He suddenly paused, the lid of the piano half lifted in his hands, the
scattered sheet music falling in a rustling shower to the floor.

"What _is_ that?" he reiterated, motionless and hearkening.

II.

A voice was calling from out the rising mists, calling again and again,
hailing the house. Briscoe dropped the lid of the piano and strode to the
door, followed by Bayne, the ladies standing irresolute on the hearthrug
and gazing apprehensively after them.

The sudden changes incident to the mountain atmosphere were evidenced in
the opaque density of the fog that had ensued on the crystalline
clearness of the sunset. It hung like a curtain from the zenith to the
depths of the valley, obscuring all the world. It had climbed the cliffs;
it was shifting in and out among the pillars of the veranda; it even
crossed the threshold as the door was opened, then shrank back
ghostly-wise, dissolving at the touch of the warm home radiance. As the
lamp-light flickered out, illuminating its pervasive pallor, the
new-comer urged a very lame horse to the steps of the veranda. The two
friends waiting within looked at each other in uncertainty as to their
policy in admitting the stranger. Then as his rapid footfalls sounded on
the veranda, and a stalwart figure appeared in the doorway, Briscoe
tilted the shade of the lamp on the table to throw its glare full on the
new-comer's face, and broke forth with an acclaim of recognition and
welcome.

To be sure, he was but a casual acquaintance, and Briscoe's cordiality
owed something of its fervor to his relief to find that the visitor was
of no untoward antecedents and intentions. An old school-fellow he had
been long ago in their distant city home, who chanced to be in the
mountains on a flying trip--no belated summer sojourner, no
pleasure-seeker, but concerned with business, and business of the
grimmest monitions. A brisk, breezy presence he had, his cheeks tingling
red from the burning of the wind and sun and the speed of his ride. He
was tall and active, thirty-five years of age perhaps, with a singularly
keen eye and an air intimating much decision of character, of which he
stood in need for he was a deputy collector of the revenue service, and
in the midst of