Mrs. Keith went into peals of laughter. She held her handkerchief to her lips, overpowered with merriment. Colin laughed sympathetically in his silent fashion, while the set gravity of Giles' features deepened. "My 'dear' Mr. Dugdale! You really are 'too' comical! The idea of likening Colin to that ancient fogey! Young, was he?—Yes, I dare say he was—two hundred years ago! But it's too rich!—too funny!" Her laughter filled the room. She was not often noisy, but for once she let herself go. "Oh, very well. Good-night. In future I shall keep my opinions to myself!" And Mr. Dugdale walked off, affronted. He could stand anything better than ridicule. Giles went with him to the door, and on his return Mrs. Keith's merriment had subsided. Colin was saying— "I have reverted lately to my old love—sculpture." There was a movement of annoyance. "I hope you are not going to take that up again!" "If I have the gift, why not use it?" asked Colin, in level tones. "You have not. It is a mere fancy." "A fancy that has survived twenty years." "You will never succeed." Her manner showed displeasure. "But at least he can try," put in Giles. "It will be utter waste of time." "That was not the opinion of an expert. He said there was no doubt about my having the gift—if I could work hard enough." "You won't. You will never keep up anything long." The words brought a shadow to both faces, more especially to that of Giles. "If you wish to find work, pray take up something worth doing." She was greatly in earnest, and the red spot in either cheek began to burn. "This is worth doing, if Colin wishes it," said Giles gravely. He counted her opposition unkind. The subject was dropped, but Mrs. Keith's face fell into a haggard set. She went to bed early, Colin retiring also, and Giles retreated to his private den beyond the billiard-room. Since he managed his own estate, without an agent, he was sufficiently busy. Papers had to be examined, letters had to be written; and this was his time of quiet. More than two hours had gone by, when a consciousness came over him of something or somebody moving. The servants would be gone to bed, since it was past midnight. He went out and listened, standing in a narrow passage, which at some distance to the left joined the central hall; and the whole house seemed to be in darkness, in absolute repose. But as he waited, he heard again that suggestion of a sound—hardly a creak—and then he saw a needle of light falling athwart one corner of the hall. He took an unlighted candle and a box of matches, and groped his way thither; but the slender ray had vanished. Again he listened, and could detect nothing. Mrs. Keith or one of the maids might be about: but what puzzled him was that the needle of light had seemed to travel from the long corridor on the first floor, known as the "gallery," its position and slant being in no other way explainable.