the
sides. The lamp was brightly trimmed; the wine was good; the viands,
although mostly cold, excellent of their sort. We seemed to have agreed
tacitly; all reference to the impending catastrophe was carefully avoided;
and, considering our tragic circumstances, we made a merrier party than
could have been expected. From time to time, it is true, Northmour or I
would rise from table and make a round of the defenses; and, on each of
these occasions, Mr. Huddlestone was recalled to a sense of his tragic
predicament, glanced up with ghastly eyes, and bore for an instant on his
countenance the stamp of terror. But he hastened to empty his glass, wiped
his forehead with his handkerchief, and joined again in the conversation.

I was astonished at the wit and information he displayed. Mr.
Huddlestone's was certainly no ordinary character; he had read and
observed for himself; his gifts were sound; and, though I could never have
learned to love the man, I began to understand his success in business,
and the great respect in which he had been held before his failure. He
had, above all, the talent of society; and though I never heard him speak
but on this one and most unfavorable occasion, I set him down among the
most brilliant conversationalists I ever met.

He was relating with great gusto, and seemingly no feeling of shame, the
maneuvers of a scoundrelly commission merchant whom he had known and
studied in his youth, and we were all listening with an odd mixture of
mirth and embarrassment, when our little party was brought abruptly to an
end in the most startling manner.

A noise like that of a wet finger on the window pane interrupted Mr.
Huddlestone's tale; and in an instant we were all four as white as paper,
and sat tongue-tied and motionless round the table.

"A snail," I said at last; for I had heard that these animals make a noise
somewhat similar in character.

"Snail be d----d!" said Northmour. "Hush!"

The same sound was repeated twice at regular intervals; and then a
formidable voice shouted through the shutters the Italian word,
_"Traditore!"_

Mr. Huddlestone threw his head in the air; his eyelids quivered; next
moment he fell insensible below the table. Northmour and I had each run to
the armory and seized a gun. Clara was on her feet with her hand at her
throat.

So we stood waiting, for we thought the hour of attack was certainly come;
but second passed after second, and all but the surf remained sil