Gentleman Geff reclined, stupidly staring, on a divan in the recess of the front bay window, and occasionally drew from his pocket a large flask, which, with trembling hands, he uncorked and put to his lips. Ran walked about from one group of friends to another, trying to seem at ease, but too surely in a state of intense anxiety. Presently he took heart of grace and went up to the group on the sofa, touched the Rev. James Campbell on the shoulder and said: “Come with me, please, reverend sir; I wish to consult you.” The rector arose and drew the arm of his host within his own and walked away with him. They did not leave the drawing-room, but went slowly up and down its length for the first few minutes in silence. Ran did not seem to know how to open the subject he had on his mind. So it was the rector, after all, who, probably divining the nature of his friend’s difficulty, was the first to speak and to speak to the point. “The hour is late, and something should be done with that——” He paused, unwilling to use the words that arose to his lips, and he indicated the inebriate by a movement of his thumb. “Yes,” said Ran, “that is what puzzles me. It was of that I wished to talk with you.” “Go on then! Let me have your views. It is late, as I remarked before, and I should have taken my wife and daughter home an hour ago, but that I did not wish to leave you until something should be settled in regard to this man.” “But you will not leave us to-night? Rooms have already been prepared for you!” exclaimed Ran. “My dear young friend, I thank you heartily, for myself and my womenkind, but we must return to the rectory to-night. My daughter has left her young babe there,” replied the rector. “But it is so late.” “But the distance is so short.” “Do oblige us by staying, Mr. Campbell.” “My dear Mr. Hay, don’t you see it is impossible, much as I thank you?” “Well, I am sorry. So will Judy be.” “And now about the disposition of this—Montgomery?” “Yes,” sighed Randolph Hay. “What do you intend to do?” “I do not know, sir. I want you to tell me, if you please. I might send for a constable to take him to the lockup house, as they call it here; but I do not like to do that. I might send him in a carriage to the village tavern, but I think he would drink himself to death there; or I might give him a bed here for the present, and indeed this is what I would rather do.” “Eh—what? Keep the fellow here?” “For the present, yes.” “And in the name of common sense—why?” “Well, to keep him out of harm’s way.” “My good young friend, you did well to take counsel with me. You would have done well to take counsel of any sane man on such a subject.” “Why, what do you mean?” “I begin to suspect that you need a trustee for your estate and a guardian for your person!” “I don’t understand you!”