“I do not know why,” said Haward restlessly.  “A whim.  Perhaps by nature I court shadows and dark corners.”

“That is not so,” Byrd replied quietly.  He had turned in his chair, the better to observe the distant portrait that was now lightened, now darkened, as the flames rose and fell.  “A speaking likeness,” he went on, glancing from it to the original and back again.  “I ever thought it one of Kneller’s best.  The portrait of a gentleman.  Only—­you have noticed, I dare say, how in the firelight familiar objects change aspect many times?—­only just now it seemed to me that it lost that distinction”—­

“Well?” said Haward, as he paused.

The Colonel went on slowly:  “Lost that distinction, and became the portrait of”—­

“Well?  Of whom?” asked Haward, and, with his eyes shaded by his hand, gazed not at the portrait, but at the connoisseur in gold and russet.

“Of a dirty tradesman,” said the master of Westover lightly.  “In a word, of an own brother to Mr. Thomas Inkle.”

A dead silence; then Haward spoke calmly:  “I will not take offense, Colonel Byrd.  Perhaps I should not take it even were it not as my guest and in my drawing-room that you have so spoken.  We will, if you please, consign my portrait to the obscurity from which it has been dragged.  In good time here comes Juba to light the candles and set the shadows fleeing.”

Leaving the fire he moved to a window, and stood looking out upon the windy twilight.  From the back of the house came a sound of voices and of footsteps.  The Colonel put up his snuffbox and brushed a grain from his ruffles.  “Enter two murderers!” he said briskly.  “Will you have them here, Haward, or shall we go into the hall?”

“Light all the candles, Juba,” ordered the master.  “Here, I think, Colonel, where the stage will set them off.  Juba, go ask Mr. MacLean and Saunderson to bring their prisoners here.”

As he spoke, he turned from the contemplation of the night without to the brightly lit room.  “This is a murderous fellow, this Hugon,” he said, as he took his seat in a great chair drawn before a table.  “I have heard Colonel Byrd argue in favor of imitating John Rolfe’s early experiment, and marrying the white man to the heathen.  We are about to behold the result of such an union.”

“I would not have the practice universal,” said the Colonel coolly, “but ’twould go far toward remedying loss of scalps in this world, and of infidel souls hereafter.  Your sprightly lover is a most prevailing missionary.  But here is our Huguenot-Monacan.”

MacLean, very wet and muddy, with one hand wrapped in a blood-stained rag, came in first.  “We found them hidden in the bushes at the turn of the road,” he said hastily.  “The schoolmaster was more peaceably inclined than any Quaker, but Hugon fought like the wolf that he is.  Can’t you hang him out of hand, Haward?  Give me a land where the chief does justice while the king looks the other way!” He turned and beckoned.  “Bring them in, Saunderson.”