It was a warm night some weeks after Droop had "hung out his shingle" as a professional photographer that he sat in the main room of the Panchronicon, reading for perhaps the twentieth time Phoebe's famous book on Bacon and Shakespeare, which she had left behind. The other books on hand he found too dry, and he whiled away his idle hours with this invaluable historic work, feeling that its tone was in harmony with his recent experiences. So to-night he was reading with the shutters tightly closed to prevent attracting the gaze of outsiders. No one had yet discovered his residence, and he had flattered himself that it would remain permanently a secret. His surprise and consternation were great, therefore, when he was suddenly disturbed in his reading by a gentle knocking on the door at the foot of the stairs. "Great Jonah!" he exclaimed, closing his book and cocking his head to listen. "Now, who--wonder ef it's Cousin Rebecca or Phoebe!" The knock was repeated. "Why, 'f course 'tis!" he said. "Couldn't be anybody else. Funny they never come back sooner!" He laid his book upon the table and started down the stairs just as the knocking was heard for the third time. "Comin'--comin'!" he cried. "Save the pieces!" He threw open the door and started back in alarm as there entered a strange man wrapped in a black cloak, which he held so as to completely hide his features. The new-comer sprang into the little hallway and hastily closed the door behind him. "Close in the light, friend," he said. Then, glancing about him, he ascended the stairs and entered the main room above. Droop followed him closely, rubbing his hand through his hair in perplexity. This intrusion threatened to spoil his plans. It would never do to have the neighbors swarming around the Panchronicon. The stranger threw off his cloak on entering the upper room and turned to face his host. "I owe you sincere acknowledgment of thanks, good sir," he said, gravely. He appeared to be about thirty-five years of age, a man of medium stature, dark of hair and eyes, with a pale, intellectual face and a close-clipped beard. His entire apparel was black, save for his well-starched ruff of moderate depth and the lace ruffles at his wrists. "Wal, I dunno," Droop retorted. "Marry, an I hed known as thou wast not an acquaintance----" "You would not have given me admittance?" The calm, dark eyes gazed with disconcerting steadiness into Droop's face. "Oh--well--I ain't sayin'----" "I hope I have not intruded to your hurt or serious confusion, friend," said the stranger, glancing about him. "To tell the very truth, your hospitable shelter hath offered itself in the hour of need." "What--doth it raineth--eh?" "Oh, no!" "What can I do fer ye? Take a seat," said Droop, as the stranger dropped into a chair. "Thou knowest, forsooth, that I don't take photygraphs at night--marry, no!" "Are you, then, the new limner who makes pictures by aid of the box and glass?"