“Who’s that?” I said, in a loud, wavering voice. The handle turned. He came weakly from his corner to put himself before me. It was too late, for the door had opened and a woman, with a baby in her arms, was standing on the threshold. And the woman was Zyp. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TABLES TURNED. In the first shock of the vision I did not realize to its full extent the profoundness of my brother’s villainy or of my own loss. Indeed, for the moment I was so numbed with amazement as to find place for no darker sentiment in my breast. “Why, it’s Renny!” said Zyp, and my heart actually rose with a brief exultation to hear my name on her lips once more. The game once taken out of his hands, Jason, with characteristic sang froid, withdrew into the background, prepared to let the waters of destiny thunder over his head. The very complication of the situation reacted upon him in such manner, I think, as to brace him up to a single defiance of fate. From the moment Zyp appeared he was almost his brazen self again. “Zyp,” I muttered, “what are you doing here?” “What a wife generally does in her husband’s house, old fellow--getting in the way.” It was my brother who spoke, and in a moment the truth burst upon me. “You are married?” I said. “Yes,” said Zyp; “this is our baby.” “You dog!” I cried---- I turned upon him madly. “You hound! You dog!” Zyp threw herself upon her knees on the threshold of the room. “Yes,” she cried, “he is, and I never knew it till two nights ago, when the girl found her way here. She didn’t know he had a wife and it broke her heart. I can understand that now. But you mustn’t hurt him, Renny.” “The girl has drowned herself, Zyp.” “And not for you, Renny? He said it was you she loved and that he was the mediator. Was that a lie?” “It was a lie!” “I thought then it was. I never believed him as I believed you. But tell me you won’t hurt him--he’s my husband. Swear on this, Renny.” With an infinitely pathetic action she held toward me the little bundle she had clasped all through in her arms. It woke and wailed as she lifted it up. “It cries to you, too,” she said; “my little Zyp, that pleads for her daddy.” Jason gave a short, ironical laugh. Sick at heart, I motioned the young mother to rise. “Not till you swear,” she said. “I swear, Zyp.” She got up then and led the way into the little dingy sitting-room from which she had issued. A cradle stood by the fire and an empty feeding bottle lay on the table. How strange it seemed that Zyp should own them! Jason followed as far as the door, where he stood leaning. Then in the cold light of morning I saw how wan was the face of the changeling of old days; how piercing were her eyes; how sadly had the mere animal beauty shrunk to make way for the soul. “You are brown, Renny,” she said, with a pitiful attempt at gayety. “You look old and wise to us poor butterflies of existence.”