nstead of moving him to generosity, by those very words she
steeled his heart against it, and proved to him that, after all, his
potentialities for evil were strong enough to enable him to do the very
thing she said he could not. His brow grew black as midnight; his dark
eyes raked her face, and saw the agony of apprehension for her lover
written there. He drew breath, hissing and audible, glanced once at
Caryll; then: "A moment!" said he.

He strode to the door and called the footmen, then turned again.

"Mr. Caryll," he said in a formal voice, "will you give yourself the
trouble of waiting in the ante-room? I need to consider upon this
matter."

Mr. Caryll, conceiving that it was with his mother that Rotherby
intended to consider, rose instantly. "I would remind you, Rotherby,
that time is pressing," said he.

"I shall not keep you long," was Rotherby's cold reply, and Mr. Caryll
went out.

"What now, Charles?" asked his mother. "Is this child to remain?"

"It is the child that is to remain," said his lordship. "Will your
ladyship do me the honor, too, of waiting in the ante-room?" and he held
the door for her.

"What folly are you considering?" she asked.

"Your ladyship is wasting time, and time, as Mr. Caryll has said, is
pressing."

She crossed to the door, controlled almost despite herself by the calm
air of purpose that was investing him. "You are not thinking of--"

"You shall learn very soon of what I am thinking, ma'am. I beg that you
will give us leave."

She paused almost upon the threshold. "If you do a rashness, here,
remember that I can still act without you," she reminded him. "You may
choose to believe that that man is your brother, and so, out of that,
and"--she added with a cruel sneer at Hortensia--"other considerations,
you may elect to let him go. But remember that you still have me to
reckon with. Whether he prove of your blood or not, he cannot prove
himself of mine--thank God!"

His lordship bowed in silence, preserving an unmoved countenance,
whereupon she cursed him for a fool, and passed out. He closed the door,
and turned the key, Hortensia watching him in a sort of horror. "Let
me go!" she found voice to cry at last, and advanced towards the
door herself. But Rotherby came to meet her, his face white, his eyes
glowing. She fell away before his opening arms, and he stood still,
mastering himself.

"That man," he said, jerking a backward thumb at the closed door, "lives
or