seemed to lack something which had
formerly made it charitable and simple-hearted and even touched with
beauty.

No one asked after Purvis, no one had seen him. He had disappeared in
the mysterious way in which he usually came and went, but his little
boy was still at the estancia, and his bitter crying for the friend who
was dead had added to the unhappiness of the day. He was a child not
easily given to tears, and his efforts at controlling his sobs were as
pathetic as his weeping. Peter found him the morning after Toffy's
death curled up behind some firewood in an outhouse, where he had gone
so that his tears should not be seen. He comforted him as well as he
knew how, and wished that Jane were there, and thought how well she
could console the little fellow; and he said to himself with an upward
stretch of his arms which relieved the ache of his heart for a moment,
'Oh, if women only knew how much a man wants them when he is down in
his luck!' He thought that he could have told Jane everything and have
talked to her about Toffy as to no one else, and he wished with all his
heart that he could climb up there behind the stack of wood and give
way to tears as this poor little chap had done. He wondered what they
were to do with him suppose Purvis never came back again.

But Purvis came back. Men often said of him that he had a genius for
doing the unlooked-for thing; but no one could have expected even of
him that he would venture to a place so near to his own estate and to
the men who had attempted his life. He travelled by night, of course.
His cat-like eyes always seemed capable of seeing in the dark, and even
his horse's footfalls had something soft and feline about them.

The other men were sleeping as men do after two long wakeful nights and
a day of stress and exertion. Even grief could not keep away the
feeling of exhaustion, and Purvis could hear their deep breathing in
the corridor, when, having tethered his horse to a distant paraiso
tree, he stole softly up to the door.

His boy's room was at the back of the house, and Purvis crept round to
it, and called him softly by name. Dick's short life had been full of
adventure and surprises, and he never uttered a sound when his father's
light touch awakened him from sleep, and his voice told him softly to
get up. Purvis dressed him with something of a woman's skill, and then
he bade him remain where he was while he crept softly into the
drawing-room