“Yes--and Dorothy’s.” The last two words said themselves, and it is conceivable that Brant would have bitten his tongue before letting that unruly member betray his secret. But Antrim’s quick apprehension and ready sympathy were answerable. “I thought maybe she was the power behind the throne,” said the chief clerk, linking his arm in that of his companion. “You know my story, George; won’t you tell me yours?” “There is nothing to tell,” said Brant shortly; and then, after an interval in which one might cuff ill humour into subjection: “That is to say, not anything out of the ordinary. I think a great deal of Miss Langford--I suppose you guessed that much long ago; but there is nothing between us--of the sort you have in mind, I mean. And there never will be. When I shall have found her brother I shall go away and probably never see her again.” “Go away?” echoed Antrim. “I thought you had given up that idea. Why are you going away?” They had reached the house, and Brant turned on the doorstep to put his hands on Antrim’s shoulders. “Don’t ask me, Harry,” he said gently. “Passing your own words back to you, it is a thing I can’t talk about, even to you. You will know all about it some day, perhaps, and then you will understand--if you don’t go over to the enemy, horse, foot, and artillery, with the rest of them.” Antrim laughed. “I’m not much on making rash promises, and talk is pretty cheap; but when that day comes you will have a friend who will stay with you if you haven’t another on the face of the earth.” “Don’t commit yourself blindfold,” warned Brant, fitting his key to the nightlatch. “The chances are that you will be ashamed to admit that you have ever known me.” They climbed the stair quietly, so as not to disturb the house, and Antrim entered his room and closed the door. While he was lighting the gas there was a tap on the panel and Brant came in. “Will you give me a shakedown on your lounge till morning?” he asked. “Mrs. Seeley evidently thought I was going to make a night of it, and she has put some one into my room.” Antrim made haste to be hospitable, but he looked mystified. “Surely. But I don’t understand that a little bit. It isn’t at all like Mrs. Seeley.” “No; it is rather odd.” “I should say so. Are you sure there is somebody there?” “On the evidence of two separate senses. I struck a match and saw a man in my bed; and besides that--listen.” The subdued murmur of the intruder’s snoring was quite audible, and Brant went on: “Moreover, to add to the oddness of it, the man has been drinking. The room reeks like a pothouse.” “Well, that is queer,” mused Antrim; and then: “Maybe it is one of the boys gone wrong and couldn’t find his room. But in that case I can’t imagine who it could be.” “Nor I,” rejoined Brant, stretching himself wearily on the lounge. “Never mind; we’ll find out all about it in the morning.”