His old analytical philosophy resumed its functions. The contempt and jealousy of one race for another; what was God's idea in implanting that in souls? Hawksley was at base Russian. The boy's English education, his adopted outlook upon life, made it possible for Cutty to ignore the racial antagonism of the Anglo-Saxon for all other races. Stefani Gregor at one end of the world and he at the other, blindly working out the destinies of Kitty Conover and Ivan Mikhail Feodorovich and so forth and so on, with the blood of Catharine in his veins! Made a chap dizzy to think of it. Traditions were piling up along with crowns and sceptres in the abyss. When he returned to the attic he felt himself fortified against any inevitability. Hawksley was sitting up, his back to the wall, staring groggily but with reckless adoration into Kitty's lovely face. Youth will be served. As if, watching these two, there could be any doubt of it! And he had bent part of his energies toward keeping them separated. “Ha!” he cried, cheerfully. “Back on top again, I see. How's the head?” “Haven't any; no legs; I'm nothing at all but a bit of my own imagination. How do you feel?” “Like the aftermath of an Irish wake.” Then Cutty's battered face assumed an expression that was meant to typify gravity. “John,” he aid, “I've bad news for you.” John. A glow went over the young man's aching body. John. What could that signify except that he had passed into the eternal friendship of this old thoroughbred? John. “About Stefani?” “Stefani is dead. He died speaking your mother's name.” Hawksley's head sank; his chin touched his chest. He spoke without looking up. “Something told me I would never see him alive again. Old Stefani! If there is any good in me it will be his handiwork. I say,” he added, his eyes now seeking Cutty's, “you called me John. Will you carry on?” “Keep an eye on you? So long as you may need me.” “I come from a lawless race. Stefani had to fight. Even now I'm afraid sometimes. God knows I want to be all he tried to make me.” “You're all right, John. You've reached haven; the storms hereafter will be outside. Besides, Stefani will always be with you. You'll never pick up that old Amati without feeling Stefani near. Can you stand?” “Between the two of you, perhaps.” With Kitty on one side and Cutty on the other Hawksley managed the descent tolerably well. Often a foot dragged. How strong she was, this girl! No hysterics, no confusion, after all that racket, with death--or something worse--reaching out toward her; calmly telling him that there was another step, warning him not to bear too heavily on Cutty! Holding him up physically and morally, these two, now all he had in life to care for. Yesterday, unknown to him; this night, bound by hoops of steel. The girl had forgiven him; he knew it by the touch of her arm.... Old Stefani! A sob escaped him. Their arms tightened.