tive. The combatants heard it all, as one hears the drone of the
cicada on a sleepy summer day; at the moment, as a mere colorless
background which later, Time, the greater adjuster, utilizes to
harmonize the whole memory.

Ichabod had been standing; now he sat down upon the bed, his long legs
stretched out before him.

"It would be useless for us to temporize," he initiated. "I've
intruded my presence in order to ask you a question." The long fingers
locked slowly over his knees. "What is your object here?"

The innate spirit of mockery sprang to the little man's face.

"You're mistaken," he smiled; "so far mistaken, that instead of your
visit being an intrusion, I expected you"--an amending memory came to
him--"although I wasn't looking for you quite so soon, perhaps." He
paused for an instant, and the smile left his lips.

"As to the statement of object. I think"--slowly--"a disinterested
observer would have put the question you ask into my mouth." He
stared his tall visitor up and down critically, menacingly. Of a
sudden, irresistibly, a very convulsion shot over his face. "God, man,
you're brazen!" he commented cumulatively.

Ichabod had gambled with this man in the past, and had seen him lose
half he possessed without the twitch of an eyelid. A force which now
could cause that sudden change of expression--no man on earth knew,
better than Ichabod, its intensity. Perhaps a shade of the same
feeling crept into his own answering voice.

"We'll quarrel later, if you wish,"--swiftly. "Neither of us can
afford to do so now. I ask you again, what are your intentions?"

"And I repeat, the question is by right mine. It's not I who've
changed my name and--and in other things emulated the hero of the
yellow-back."

Ichabod's face turned a shade paler, though his answer was calm.

"We've known each other too well for either to attempt explanation or
condemnation. You wish me to testify first." The long fingers
unclasped from over his knee. "You know the story of the past year:
it's the key to the future."

A smile, sardonic, distinctive, lifted the tips of Arnold's big
moustaches.

"Your faith in your protecting gods is certainly beautiful."

Ichabod nursed a callous spot on one palm.

"I understand,"--very slowly. "At least, you'll answer my question
now, perhaps," he suggested.

"With pleasure. You intimate the future will be but a repetition of
the past. It'll be my endeavor to give that statement the li