A week after his conversation with Allen--the conversation which had terminated in so unexpected a manner--Edermont sat in his study. This was a small oak-panelled room on the left side of the house, and was entered directly from the hall. It was plainly, even penuriously, furnished, containing little beyond a bureau of innumerable drawers and cupboards, a dingy sofa, and three chairs, the most comfortable of which was placed in front of the desk. On the walls were paintings dark with age, and an assortment of flint pistols, ancient swords, savage weapons from Africa and the South Seas, and portions of rusty armour. A window looked out directly on the lawn, but there were two doors, one of which led into the hall, the other, on the opposite side, into the faded and lonely drawing-room, which was never used. This latter apartment had three windows in the same position as that of the study, and also a glass-door with shutters at the side of the house. The view from this door was bounded by a hedge of untrimmed laurel-trees. So much for the scene. Now for the drama. To Edermont, seated at his desk on this particular morning, entered Joad, with a card held between a dingy finger and thumb. He advanced towards his friend with a malignant grin, and dropped the card on to the blotting-pad. "Here is something likely to startle you, Julian," said he with his usual familiarity. "Mr. Augustus Pallant, on behalf of Laura Burville, is waiting to see you." The miserable Edermont turned pale, and began to whimper. "Oh, Lambert, do you think he means to do me harm?" "If he does, it is on behalf of your dear Laura," replied Joad quietly; "you had better pluck up your courage, Julian, and see him." "It might be dangerous, Lambert. Oh dear, terribly dangerous!" "It will be more dangerous if you don't see the man." "Why so? After twenty years Laura can do nothing." "I am not so sure of that, Julian. She might tell Dora who she is." The mere suggestion struck a blow at the timid heart of Edermont. "I'll see him! I'll see him!" he cried, getting nervously on his feet. "Admit him, Lambert, and bring him here. But"--he buttonholed his friend--"remain within hearing, Lambert. He might do me an injury. I am not strong, you know." "You are a contemptible little coward!" snarled Joad, shaking him off. "I'll look after you. There is too much to lose for me to risk your death." Edermont threw up his hands with a cry. "Not that word, Lambert; there can be no danger after twenty years. 'From battle and murder, and from sudden death, good Lord, deliver us.'" As was his custom, Joad sneered at this prayer, which Edermont had offered up daily for the last twenty years, and went out of the house. In a few minutes he returned with a tall, red-haired man, whom he introduced silently into the study. After the introduction he closed the door, and went across to his favourite seat under the cedar to await events. The first which occurred was the coming of Dora.