had a stormy interview with my housekeeper, Mrs. LaGrange, who had tried, as on previous occasions, to coerce me by threats into a private marriage and a public recognition of her as my wife and of her child and mine; and, in addition, the occurrences of the day had been of a nature to recall the past, and events which I usually sought to bury in oblivion were passing before my mental vision despite my efforts to banish them.  Suddenly a voice which seemed like an echo of the past recalled me to the present.  Somewhat startled, I turned quickly, confronting a man who had entered unperceived from the tower-room.  He was my own height and size, with curling black hair and heavy mustache, but I was unable to distinguish his features as he remained standing partly in the shadow.  Before I could recover from my surprise, he again spoke, his voice still vaguely familiar.

“‘The master of Fair Oaks’ — the words were spoken with stinging emphasis — ’seems depressed on the eve of his festal day, the day on which he is to name the heir and successor to his vast estates!’

“I remembered that a stranger had called that day during my absence, who, my secretary had informed me, bad shown a surprising familiarity with my private plans.

“‘I think,’ I replied, coldly, ’that you favored me with a call this afternoon, but whatever your business then or now, you will have to defer it for a few days.  I do not know how you gained admittance to these apartments at this hour, but I will see that you are escorted from them without delay,’ and as I spoke I rose to ring for a servant.

“He anticipated my intention, however, and with the agility of a panther sprang noiselessly across the room, intercepting me, at the same time raising a large, English bull-dog revolver, which he levelled at me.

“‘Not so fast, not so fast,’ he said, softly; ’you can afford to wait a little; I have waited for years!’

“I stood as though rooted to the spot, gazing at him with a sort of fascination.  As he emerged into the light there was something almost familiar in his features, and yet something horribly incongruous and unreal.  His eyes glowed like living fire; his soft, low tones reminded me of nothing so much as the purring of a tiger; while the smile that played about his lips was more terrible than anything I had ever seen on human face.  It was ten times more fearful than the muzzle of the revolver confronting me, and seemed to freeze the very blood in my veins.

“’You take a base advantage; I am unarmed,” I sneered.

“‘I knew too well with whom I had to deal to come unarmed,’ he replied; ‘though this,’ and he lowered the revolver, ’this is not the sort of weapon you would employ, — a thrust in the dark, a stab in the back, that is your style, coward!”

“‘I demand an explanation of this,’ I said.