“Is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing?” he said, in a voice that trembled with indignation. “What do you take me for, old fellow?” Faradeane put up his hand, and clasping the tiny one, pressed it in silence for a moment. “I might have known what you would say, Cherub,” he said, his voice softening for the first time. “I might have known----Well, so be it! But remember, remember”--impressively--“that it is, indeed, and in truth a mistake, and that I am not the man you mistook me for. I am Harold Faradeane, and you make my acquaintance for the first time to-day.” Bertie nodded, and dropped back into his chair. “I--I consent,” he said, in a low voice. “Of course I consent. But is there nothing I can do----” “Nothing,” was the calm and instant response. “My case is beyond the help of man. Neither you nor any one else can help me, Bertie. I have got to ‘dree my weird,’ as the Scotch say, and--alone!” He looked round the room slowly, then went on: “You asked me why I chose this place. It was an accident. Knowing that the people who were hunting me”--Bertie winced--“would jump to the conclusion that I had gone on the Continent, I determined to remain in England. In the course of my wanderings I happened to come upon this place. Its utter seclusion struck me; its beauty--it’s pretty, isn’t it?”--Bertie nodded--“its beauty completed the conquest. You remember, I was always inclined to the artistic in the old days when I was not an outcast and a fugitive,” and he smiled. Bertie sighed. “You don’t know how it pains me to hear you talk like this, Faradeane!” he said, in a low voice. “And it costs me a great deal to talk like it, though I try to hide it,” said the other, gravely. “I don’t think there is much more to tell you. It isn’t much, is it, that I have told you?” Bertie shook his head. “And--and you mean to remain here? What will you do with yourself? Do you intend to live in complete seclusion--to make no friends?” Faradeane was silent for a moment. “I shall remain here until chance puts my pursuers on my track,” he replied. “What am I going to do?” He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s rather a difficult question to answer, Cherub. I find time hangs rather heavily on my hands; but I read a great deal, and I write. You know I always had a knack of scribbling. And I have indulged myself in a horse; he and I--it is a new one--are very good friends already. As to friends of the human kind, barring yourself, Cherub, I must do without them. If you like to take pity on the recluse, and run in now and again, well and good; but no one else.” “Great Heaven!” muttered Bertie; “and you--you who were so popular, such a favorite with us all! I----Forgive me, Faradeane; but while I have been listening, a possible idea has struck me.” The other laughed.