It was George St. Mabyn who uttered the word, but it was not like his voice at all. The new-comer gave a quick glance around the room, as though he wanted to take in the situation, then he took a quick step towards Lady Bolivick. 'Will you forgive me for coming in this way, Lady Bolivick?' he said quietly. 'But I could not help myself. I only got back an hour or two ago, and the servants were so upset that they lost their heads entirely. But they did manage to tell me that George was here, so I took the liberty of an old friend and----; but what's this? Is anything the matter? George, old man, why--why----' and he looked at George St. Mabyn and Norah Blackwater inquiringly. But George St. Mabyn did not speak; instead, he stood staring at his brother with terror-stricken eyes. 'You thought I was dead, eh?' and there was a laugh in Maurice St. Mabyn's voice. 'I'm worth a good many dead men yet.' Again he looked around the room until his eyes rested upon Springfield, who had been watching his face from the moment of his entrance. 'By Jove, St. Mabyn,' he cried, and I could see he was fighting for self-mastery; 'but you have played us a trick. Here have we all been wasting good honest grief on you. But--but--I am glad, old man. I--I----' His speech ended in a gasp. His words seemed to be frozen by the cold glitter of Maurice St. Mabyn's eyes. Never in my whole life have I seen so much contempt, so much loathing in a man's face as I saw in the face of the new-comer at that moment. But he did not speak. He simply turned on his heel, and addressed Sir Thomas Bolivick. 'You seem surprised, and something more than surprised at seeing me, Sir Thomas,' he said; 'but you are glad to see me, aren't you?' 'Glad!' cried the old man. 'Glad! Why, God bless my soul, Maurice! I--I--but--but glad?'--and he began to mop his eyes vigorously. 'I think there'll be a lot of explanations by and by,' went on Maurice,' especially after I've had a chat with my old friend, Jack Carbis, over there. Jack, you rascal, you've a lot to tell me, haven't you? By the way, George,'--and he gave Springfield a glance,--'I understand that this fellow is a guest at St. Mabyn. Will you tell him, as you seem friendly with him, that my house is not good for his health.' Springfield looked from one to another like a man in despair. The coming of Maurice St. Mabyn had been such a confirmation of all that Jack Carbis had said, that he saw no loophole of escape anywhere. But this was only for a moment. Even in his defeat the man's character as a fighter was evident. 'St. Mabyn,' he said hoarsely, 'I swear by Heaven that you are mistaken! Of course I was mistaken--and--and no one is gladder than I--that you have turned up. Give me fair play,--give me a chance--give me time, and I'll clear up everything!'