There was no light inside the house except that which came from the fire in an open range on the right; but by this Bram saw that he was in an enormous stone-paved kitchen, with open rafters above, a relic of the time when the farmer was not one of the gentlefolk, but dined with his family and his laborers at a huge deal table under the pendant hams and bunches of dried herbs which in the old days used to dangle from the rough-hewn beams. Bram, however, noticed nothing but that a door on the opposite side of the kitchen was swinging back as if some one had just passed through, and he sprang across the stone flags and threw it open. There was a little oil lamp on a bracket against the wall in the wide hall in which he found himself. Standing with his back to the solid oak panels of the front door, brandishing a naked cavalry sword of old-fashioned pattern, stood the airy Theodore Biron in dressing-gown and slippers, with his hair in disorder, his face very much flushed, and his little fair moustache twisted up into a fierce-looking point at each end. On the lowest step of a wide oak staircase, which took up about twice the space it ought to have done in proportion to the size of the hall, stood little Claire, pale, trembling with fright, trying to keep her alarm out of her voice, as she coaxed her father to put down the sword and go to bed. “Drunk! Mad drunk!” thought Bram as he took in the situation at a glance. At sight of the intruder, whom she did not in the least recognize, Claire stopped short in the midst of her entreaties. “What are you doing here? Who are you?” asked she, turning upon him fiercely. The sudden appearance of the stranger, instead of further infuriating Mr. Biron, as might have been feared, struck him for an instant into decorum and quiescence. Lowering the point of the weapon he had been brandishing, he seemed for a moment to wait with curiosity for the answer to his daughter’s question. When, however, Bram answered, in a respectful and shame-faced manner, that he had heard her call out and feared she might be in need of help, Theodore’s energy returned with full force, and he made a wild pass or two in the direction of the young man, with a recommendation to him to be prepared. Claire’s terrors returned with full force. “Oh, father, don’t, don’t! You’ll hurt him!” she cried piteously. But the entreaty only served to whet Theodore’s appetite for blood. “Hurt him! I mean to! I mean to have his life!” shouted he, while his light eyes seemed to be starting from his head. And, indeed, it seemed as if he would proceed to carry out this threat, when Bram, to the terror of Claire and the evident astonishment of her father, rushed upon Theodore, and, cleverly avoiding the thrust which the latter made at him, seized the hilt of the sword, and wrested it from his grasp. It was a bold act, and one which needed some address. Mr Biron was for the moment sobered by his amazement.