"I've put up for a good while with your mother's fantasies, Colin; but really, you know, it was getting beyond a joke! After a quarter of a century at the antipodes to be kept at arm's length from one's kith and kin—no reason but a fad! Couldn't stand it any longer, and that's a fact! So I thought I would see for myself what it all meant. I was in the garden, debating whom to ask for, when I saw a glare and heard Cecil shriek—and the quickest way was over the porch. I'm pretty active still—luckily. The fire was blazing—not three seconds to spare. Then of course I stayed to help, and when we had put it out, I was as black as a crow, and went to the inn, where I'd left my bag. Now I've come back—to see my sister and you young fellows. Not done wrongly, I hope?" Giles murmured a negative, though the last words had been spoken to Colin. "You, of course, are Randolph?" He placed a broad hand on Colin's shoulder. "About three feet high when I saw you last. No mistaking you for anything but a Randolph! Not the athletic type. You're the exact image of your uncle Jem—died early, you know. Well, Cecil, I hope you forgive me for not carrying out your eccentric instructions!" So far he had talked carelessly, in Giles' voice, though with a "jollier" intonation. But the silence made itself felt. He paused. After these years of unquestioning acceptance, in one moment light had flashed upon all three men, vividly, as with Phyllys before, casting a lurid glare upon past, present, future. No doubt the way for such illumination had been prepared. Many a perplexity, put down to Mrs. Keith's "oddity," now rose with convincing power. Mr. Dugdale's eyes expanded, and for once words failed him. Colin's face grew a shade more ivory-like. Giles flushed darkly crimson, whether with guilt Phyllys could not determine; and by comparison she cared for nothing beside. If "he" were true, if "he" had been in ignorance—all else signified little. The silence was brief, measured by seconds, yet it seemed long. To Mrs. Keith it meant an age of anguish! For the worst had come. The blow which for twenty-seven years she had used every effort to avert, was fallen. At another time she might have carried matters with a high hand, might have tried to prove the likeness accidental. But the fire and the shock of her brother's appearance had shaken her nerve, and she could neither speak nor move. In previous imaginings of this scene, the one thing that she had not thought of was—silence. Astonishment, reproaches, exclamations, she had expected. The silence was more awful. Would it never end? Colin broke it. In soft slow tones, dragging more than usual, he informed the newcomer— "You are making a mistake; pardon me. I am Colin Keith. That is Giles Randolph." The other spoke his incredulity by a laugh. "It is true," chimed in a deeper voice. "'I' have always been Giles. 'He' has always been Colin." The form of expression betrayed his thought.