“By the way, Jelf,” I began, “I came down part of the way to-day with a friend of yours.”

“Indeed!” said the master of the feast, slicing scientifically into the breast of the turkey.  “With whom, pray?”

“With one who bade me tell you that he should, if possible, pay you a visit before Christmas.”

“I cannot think who that could be,” said my friend, smiling.

“It must be Major Thorp,” suggested Mrs. Jelf.

I shook my head.

“It was not Major Thorp,” I replied.  “It was a near relation of your own, Mrs. Jelf.”

“Then I am more puzzled than ever,” replied my hostess.  “Pray tell me who it was.”

“It was no less a person than your cousin, Mr. John Dwerrihouse.”

Jonathan Jelf laid down his knife and fork.  Mrs. Jelf looked at me in a strange, startled way, and said never a word.

“And he desired me to tell you, my dear madam, that you need not take the trouble to burn the hall down in his honor this time; but only to have the chimney of the blue room swept before his arrival.”

Before I had reached the end of my sentence, I became aware of something ominous in the faces of the guests.  I felt I had said something which I had better have left unsaid, and that for some unexplained reason my words had evoked a general consternation.  I sat confounded, not daring to utter another syllable, and for at least two whole minutes there was dead silence round the table.  Then Captain Prendergast came to the rescue.

“You have been abroad for some months, have you not, Mr. Langford?” he said with the desperation of one who flings himself into the breach.  “I heard you had been to Russia.  Surely you have something to tell us of the state and temper of the country after the war?”

I was heartily grateful to the gallant Skirmisher for this diversion in my favor.  I answered him, I fear, somewhat lamely; but he kept the conversation up, and presently one or two others joined in, and so the difficulty, whatever it might have been, was bridged over.  Bridged over, but not repaired.  A something, an awkwardness, a visible constraint, remained.  The guests hitherto had been simply dull; but now they were evidently uncomfortable and embarrassed.

The dessert had scarcely been placed upon the table when the ladies left the room.  I seized the opportunity to select a vacant chair next Captain Prendergast.

“In Heaven’s name,” I whispered, “what was the matter just now?  What had I said?”

“You mentioned the name of John Dwerrihouse.”

“What of that?  I had seen him not two hours before.”

“It is a most astounding circumstance that you should have seen him,” said Captain Prendergast.  “Are you sure it was he?”

“As sure as of my own identity.  We were talking all the way between London and Blackwater.  But why does that surprise you?”

“Because,” replied Captain Prendergast, dropping his voice to the lowest whisper,—­“because John Dwerrihouse absconded three months ago, with seventy-five thousand pounds of the company’s money, and has never been heard of since.”