Godfrey Palliser insisted on dining with his guests that evening, which he had seldom done since his illness, and his four companions, among whom was the lawyer who had done his business for thirty years, long remembered that meal. Their host was dressed with his usual precision, and sat stiffly erect, as though disdaining the support the high‐backed chair that had been brought him might afford, but the sombre garments emphasized the pallor of his face, until, as the glow of the sinking sun streamed in through the colored lights above the western window, a ruddy gleam fell upon it. In that forced brilliancy its hollowness and fragility became more apparent, and it was almost a relief to those who sat at meat with him when the hall grew shadowy. He ate very little, and scarcely spoke to any one but Violet, though his voice was curiously gentle when he did so; and when he sat silent his eyes would rest on her and Tony with a little contented smile. Though they did what they could to hide it, there was a constraint upon the party which the very servants seemed to feel, for Tony fancied they were more swift and noiseless in their movements than usual. He also noticed the curious look in one man’s eyes when, though the light was scarcely fading outside, Godfrey Palliser signed to him. “Bring lights. I cannot see,” he said. The lights were brought, naked wax candles in great silver holders, and their pale gleam flung back from glass and silver had a curious effect in the lingering daylight. There was silence for awhile, and Tony was grateful to Mrs. Wayne, who broke it tactfully; but the vague uneasiness remained, and more than one of those who saw the strained expression in his eyes wondered whether it was the last time Godfrey Palliser would dine in state at Northrop Hall. Nobody was sorry when Mrs. Wayne rose, but Palliser smiled at his nephew when Violet went out of the room with her. “You will spare me a few minutes, Tony. I have something to ask you,” he said. “We need have no diffidence in speaking before Mr. Craythorne.” The elderly lawyer bent his head, and Tony felt uneasy. “I shall be glad to tell you anything I can, sir,” he said. “It is rather your opinion than information I want,” said Palliser. “Some time ago you tried to convince me of Bernard’s innocence, while to‐day Violet persisted that she could not believe him guilty—even when I pointed out that so far as I could see the culprit was either you or he. Are you still as sure Bernard was not the man responsible for Davidson’s death as you were then? I am not asking without a purpose, and the fact that we are honored with Craythorne’s company will show you that I consider it necessary to set my house in order. It may be yours very soon now, Tony.” His low, even voice jarred upon one listener, and Tony spoke no more than the truth when he broke out, “I hope you will hold it a good many years yet, sir!”