mine."

The particular and accepted work to which Mr. Thompson was alluding had
turned quite pale, and was looking fixedly toward an open door leading
to the veranda, lately filled by gaping servants, and now the scene of
some vague tumult. As the noise continued, a man, shabbily dressed, and
evidently in liquor, broke through the opposing guardians, and staggered
into the room. The transition from the fog and darkness without to the
glare and heat within evidently dazzled and stupefied him. He removed
his battered hat, and passed it once or twice before his eyes, as he
steadied himself, but unsuccessfully, by the back of a chair. Suddenly,
his wandering glance fell upon the pale face of Charles Thompson; and
with a gleam of childlike recognition, and a weak, falsetto laugh, he
darted forward, caught at the table, upset the glasses, and literally
fell upon the prodigal's breast.

"Sha'ly! yo' d----d ol' scoun'rel, hoo rar ye!"

"Hush--sit down!--hush!" said Charles Thompson, hurriedly endeavoring to
extricate himself from the embrace of his unexpected guest.

"Look at 'm!" continued the stranger, unheeding the admonition, but
suddenly holding the unfortunate Charles at arm's length, in loving and
undisguised admiration of his festive appearance. "Look at 'm! Ain't he
nasty? Sha'ls, I'm prow of yer!"

"Leave the house!" said Mr. Thompson, rising, with a dangerous look in
his cold, gray eye. "Char-les, how dare you?"

"Simmer down, ole man! Sha'ls, who's th' ol' bloat? Eh?"

"Hush, man; here, take this!" With nervous hands, Charles Thompson
filled a glass with liquor. "Drink it and go--until to-morrow--any time,
but--leave us!--go now!" But even then, ere the miserable wretch could
drink, the old man, pale with passion, was upon him. Half carrying him
in his powerful arms, half dragging him through the circling crowd of
frightened guests, he had reached the door, swung open by the waiting
servants, when Charles Thompson started from a seeming stupor, crying,--

"Stop!"

The old man stopped. Through the open door the fog and wind drove
chilly. "What does this mean?" he asked, turning a baleful face on
Charles.

"Nothing--but stop--for God's sake. Wait till to-morrow, but not
to-night. Do not--I implore you--do this thing."

There was something in the tone of the young man's voice, something,
perhaps, in the contact of the struggling wretch he held in his powerful
arms; but a dim, indefinite fear took possessi