'You are always stealing on a fellow unawares, Deb,' said he, in a thick and uncertain voice; 'it is deuced unpleasant--startles one so.' Her face was pale as usual; but her eyes and mouth expressed anger, pain, and a good deal of indignation and contempt too. 'What have you done?' she demanded categorically. 'Nothing,' said he, striving to collect his thoughts; 'but made my way here in a devil of a shower, for want of other shelter.' 'You know what has happened?' 'To Lindsay--yes.' 'You do?' she exclaimed, making a step forward, with a hand on her side, as if her usual pain was there. 'I know that he is absent--missing--that is all,' he replied doggedly. 'Nothing more?' 'Nothing more--and care little, as you may suppose,' he replied, avoiding her keen searching eye by carefully filling his pipe. 'There is always some row on,' he grumbled; 'what a petty world this is after all--I wonder if the fixed stars are inhabited.' 'That will not matter to you, I should think.' 'Why?' 'You will go some other way, I fear.' 'Deb, your surmise is unpleasant.' The manner of Hawkey Sharpe to his sister had lost, just then, much of its general self-contained assurance. She detected the change, and it rendered her suspicious. 'Save this poor little dog Fifine,' said she, caressing the cur she carried under an arm, and which was greedily sniffing the _débris_ of Mr. Hawkey's supper, 'I do not know a living creature who really cares for me!' 'Oh--come now, Deb--hang it!' said her brother in an expostulatory manner. 'You have some object in coming here to-night,' said she sternly; 'to the point at once, Hawkey?' 'Well, since you force me, Deb--I have been unfortunate in some speculations.' 'Is it thus you describe your losses on the race-course?' 'At the western meeting--yes--backed the wrong or losing horse--_Scottish Patriot_--devil of a mess, Deb!' 'And lost--how much? An unlucky name.' 'Two thousand pounds--must have the money somehow--I'm booked for it, and you know the adage-- "A horse kicking, a dog biting, A gentleman's word without his writing," are none of them in my way.' 'I know nothing of the adage, but this I know--there are bounds to patience.' 'My dear Deb!' said he coaxingly. 'I have lost much--too much, indeed, through you--money that might be put to good and holy uses--and now shall lose no more!' Turning abruptly, she swept away and left him. He looked after her with absolutely a red glare of rage in his pale gray eyes. 'Good and holy uses--meaning the kirk of course!' he muttered with a savage malediction. 'We shall see--we shall see. She must have heard me muttering about her cheque-book--ass that I am; but that money I must have before three months are past if I rake Pandemonium for it!' Again the clanging of the house bell fell upon his ear, and he heard the storm as it rose and died away to rise again. He took another glass of stiff grog and glared at the great antique clock on the mantel-shelf.