of
the conversation agitated him. The untidy, little chap-books, tied
together with the tag of rusty ribbon, had lain undisturbed in the
drawer of his library table ever since the--to him--very memorable
evening, when, kneeling before the image of the stricken Mother and the
dead Christ, he had found the man's heart under the priest's cassock
and awakened to newness of life. Much had happened since then; and
Julius had ranged himself, accepting, open-eyed, the sorrows and
alleviations of the fate he had created for himself. But to-night he
was tired. The mental and emotional strain of the last few days had
been considerable. Moreover, John Knott's presence always affected him.
The two men stood, indeed, at opposing poles of thought--the one
spiritual and ideal, the other material and realistic. And, though he
struggled against the influence, the doctor's rather brutal common
sense and large knowledge of physical causes, gained a painful
ascendency over his mind at close quarters. Knott, it must be owned,
was slightly merciless to his clerical acquaintances. He loved to bait
them, to impale them on the horns of some moral or theological dilemma.
And it was partly with this purpose of harrying and worrying, that he
continued now:--

"Yes, Mrs. Ormiston, I should like to hear the story just as much as
you would. And--it strikes me, if he pleased, Mr. March could tell it
to us. Suppose you ask him to!"

Promptly the young lady fell upon Julius, regardless of Ormiston's
hardly concealed displeasure.

"Oh! you bad man, what are you doing," she cried, "trying to conceal
thrilling family legends from the nearest relatives? Tell us all about
it, if you know, as Dr. Knott declares you do. I dote on terrifying
stories--don't you, Mary?--that send the cold shivers all down my back.
And if they deal with the history of my nearest and dearest, why,
there's an added charm to them. Now, Mr. March, we're all attention.
Stand and deliver, and make it all just as bad as you can."

"I am afraid I am not an effective _improvisatore_" he replied; "and
the subject, if you will pardon my saying so, seems to me too intimate
for mirth. A curse is supposed to rest on this place. The owners of
Brockhurst die young and by violent means."

"We know that already, and look to you to tell us something more, Mr.
March," Dr. Knott said dryly.

Julius was slightly nettled at the elder man's tone and manner. He
answered with an accentuation of his