On the wooden chimneypiece stood two heavy brass candlesticks, polished till they shone like gold; above hung a dark portrait in a gilt frame of a fashionably dressed lady, who smiled aimlessly; she was flanked by two smaller pictures of vases of fruit, stiff but rich in coloring. Close behind Jerome, on a shelf that appeared to have been affixed on purpose, stood a curious tall vase of blue and white Delft; from each of the ten spouts breaking the side, showed the tips of a tulip bulb with the first points of green; in the opening of the vase itself lay another larger and ready to burst into flower. The Dutchmen broke off their converse at last and left the room. Jerome turned to the silent figure by the window. “Sir,” he said evenly, “can you tell me what is intended toward me: on what I wait?” Carstairs showed a solemn face. “Young man,” he replied, “albeit I am not here to answer thy questioning, yet out of charity will I inform thee, that thou art shortly to be examined for thy manifold offenses.” Jerome smiled. It was familiar phraseology. “By whom, sir?” “By those whom thou hast offended,” was the answer. As he spoke Carstairs rose and his spare figure looked unnaturally tall. “God turn thee, young man, from the heathenish worship of idols that has led thee into these errors,” he said gravely. “Thou art one of the Magliants who distract this land yet, although the Lord has seen fit to remove them from their high places and set up his lowly servants.” He put out his hand in a gesture of proud humility, and Jerome saw that his thumb was a mere shriveled stump of bone. “Maybe there is but a little time left to thee, therefore repent swiftly lest thou lose the world everlasting as thou hast the world of the flesh.” With this he turned slowly and left the room. Jerome leaned against the wall and waited, his feeling a curious one of disinterest and indifference; a man hopelessly in the hands of his enemies, a man who has failed and is at the mercy of those whom he hates and has striven to overthrow, has no chance save to stand silent, contemptuous of himself. After a few moments a gentleman entered, and Jerome looked up. The new-comer wore his hat and passed at once to the chair by the bureau, where he sat down, and with no heed of Jerome began opening some letters that lay there. He wore a black velvet riding-suit, heavily gallooned with gold; a diamond fastened the long feather in his gray beaver. There was a quantity of fine lace on his cravat and at his wrists, the gold handle of his sword was of most beautiful workmanship. He glanced over the letters, then pulling off his gloves looked up at Jerome. His eyes, of that hazel that is almost green, were large and very brilliant, his features aristocratic, clear-cut, composed, and shaded by heavy auburn curls. Jerome Caryl knew him at once, and flushed deeply in the suddenness and unexpectedness of the encounter.