"Laurence," said Olive, who was still staring into the fire, "do you think Dr. Drabble was blown up?" "I'm certain of it. As Madame Death-in-Life's right-hand man, and general adviser to these rascals, he would certainly not be absent from so important a meeting. Yes, I think Drabble has received the wage of his sins." "Poor Mrs. Drabble!" "Happy Mrs. Drabble, you mean. She has been rescued from the torment of an unscrupulous bully. Besides, Drabble would have poisoned his children's minds. He was in a fair way to ruining Margery." Olive rose and came laughing across the room. "Margery has improved," she said, with some amusement; "her Anarchistic mood has passed. She now concerns herself chiefly with religion." "At her age? Nonsense! There must be a limit even to her precocity." "A child's religion, of course. Margery is older than her years, and very, very clever, as you know. She now reads her Bible, goes to church, and writes hymns on the model of Keble. I found her with Keble's poems the other day." "Poor child! her father has quite unsettled her mind. It's a lucky thing for Margery, and for the rest of the family, that he's gone. I suppose the news of his death will, have to be broken to his wife. But if Mrs. Drabble is wise she will rejoice, not sorrow." "Oh, Laurence! After all he was her husband, the father of her children." "And a nice blackguard in either capacity. Hullo, who's this tramp?" Across the lawn stumbled a ragged Guy Fawkes, grotesque and unsteady. He laboured in the snow like a liner rolling in a cross sea. At his nearer approach he raised his head. Those at the window started, and stared eagerly. "Laurence! look! a black beard, a long beard; can it be----" "Wait, wait," interrupted Mallow; and throwing open the French window, he ran across the terrace down the steps. With a yelp the man scrambled back, but stumbled full length on the slippery crust of snow. Mallow gripped his shoulder as he dropped. "Who the devil are you?" he said roughly. "Mr. Mallow?" The ragged creature gave a howl of joy. "I'm--I'm Trall!" CHAPTER II. "THE PENANCE OF MARGERY." "I'm Trall," repeated the man, staggering to his feet. He plucked off a false beard, thereby throwing into prominence the haggardness of his face. "Trall?" echoed Mallow, as though taking in the man's identity for the first time. "Good God, I thought you were dead!" The man whimpered, and fawned on Mallow as a whipped dog fawns on its master. "I'm alive; I'm Trall," he reiterated. "I'm so glad it's you, Mr. Mallow. I thought they were after me. But I'm Trall; you know me, don't you? You'll save me, won't you? I'm afraid of them.' "Whatever is the matter, Laurence?" called out Olive, at the window. "Who is it?" "It's all right, Olive; it's only Trall. I'll explain later; go inside now.--Good God!" said Mallow, again looking at the wreck of humanity before him. "Alive after all."