Eglington vaguely knew that now he was to face some trial of mind and nerve, but with great deliberation he continued dropping liquid from a bottle into the glass retort he carried, his eyes, however, watchful of his visitor, who involuntarily stared around the laboratory. It was fifteen years since Soolsby had been in this room; and then he had faced this man’s father with a challenge on his tongue such as he meant to speak now. The smell of the chemicals, the carboys filled with acids, the queer, tapering glasses with engraved measurements showing against the coloured liquids, the great blue bottles, the mortars and pestles, the microscopic instruments--all brought back the far-off, acrid scene between the late Earl and himself. Nothing had changed, except that now there were wires which gave out hissing sparks, electrical instruments invented since the earlier day; except that this man, gently dropping acids into the round white bottle upon a crystal which gave off musty fumes, was bolder, stronger, had more at stake than the other. Slowly Eglington moved back to put the retort on a long table against the wall, and Soolsby stepped forward till he stood where the electric sparks were gently hissing about him. Now Eglington leaned against the table, poured some alcohol on his fingers to cleanse the acid from them, and wiped them with a piece of linen, while he looked inquiringly at Soolsby. Still, Soolsby did not speak. Eglington lit a cigarette, and took away the shade from his eyes. “Well, now, what is your experiment?” he asked, “and why bring it here? Didn’t you know the way to the stables or the scullery?” “I knew my way better here,” answered Soolsby, steadying himself. “Ah, you’ve been here often?” asked Eglington nonchalantly, yet feeling for the cause of this midnight visit. “It is fifteen years since I was here, my lord. Then I came to see the Earl of Eglington.” “And so history repeats itself every fifteen years! You came to see the Earl of Eglington then; you come to see the Earl of Eglington again--after fifteen years!” “I come to speak with him that’s called the Earl of Eglington.” Eglington’s eyes half closed, as though the light hurt them. “That sounds communistic, or is it pure Quakerism? I believe they used to call my father Friend Robert till he backslided. But you are not a Quaker, Soolsby, so why be too familiar? Or is it merely the way of the old family friend?” “I knew your father before you were born, my lord--he troosted me then.” “So long? And fifteen years ago--here?” He felt a menace, vague and penetrating. His eyes were hard and cruel. “It wasn’t a question of troost then; ‘twas one of right or wrong--naught else.”