What a change came over the spirit of the Brazencrook policeman’s dream, as he smoked his pipe and talked to his wife on this night over the kitchen fire! It needed all the wifely consolation which his admiring spouse could bring to bear upon his deep dejection, to save him from utter despair. “I’m a ruined man! I’m a ruined man!” was all the defeated officer could say. His two new prisoners were not more chapfallen than the Brazencrook chief, through whose fingers had slipped government reward, credit, reputation--everything which he hoped to gain--by his rash act of the morning. CHAPTER XVII. IN THE FIRELIGHT. Earl Verner returned from London by the evening mail, after having put the law into active operation on Lionel’s behalf. When he came bustling into the coziest of cozy drawing-rooms, having rushed in before anybody had time to go out and meet him in the hall, he was most agreeably surprised by a singularly happy-looking family party. Lionel Hammerton, in the easiest of easy chairs (the hero of the evening, the especial delight of all beholders just then), was sitting near Mrs. Arthur Phillips, on one side of the fire. On the other sat the Countess, looking almost herself again, and close by her side was the artist. Before the fire, sitting in a rather constrained manner, was a stranger--a mild-looking, inoffensive gentleman, with brown curly whiskers and expressive grey eyes. This latter person was Mr. Bales, whom Lionel had brought with him from Brazencrook, in order that he might relate the singular story of his capture to the Earl. His lordship being away, the Countess had insisted upon Mr. Bales coming into the drawing-room and telling her all about it.