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 opened at Jaffray's kick, they all passed into a sparely furnished room where upon a broken-down table gleamed a candle that vied with the firelight in giving them welcome.

"Now, Tolliver," Jaffray spoke sharply to the undersized, shrinking man who had admitted them as Master Jones sank wearily upon a chair which Mehitable got for him, "I leave these prisoners in your care for the nonce. I must return for that fool, Sturgins."

"But where is Sturgins?" objected the other timidly. "I expected his help in guarding these prisoners."

Jaffray scowled. "Guard them yourself!" he ordered crossly, slamming the door as he went out.

There was silence a moment, then Tolliver's cringing manner dropped from him. When Mehitable turned toward him, she was amazed to see that behind his steel-rimmed spectacles there dwelt a hidden, kindly twinkle.

"Wilt not come nearer to the fire, mistress?" he asked courteously.

"Why"—Mehitable's mouth remained open—"art Tory, sir, and so nice!"

Tolliver laughed quietly. "Not all Tories are moulded upon our friend Jaffray's pattern," he suggested. "Wilt have this chair?"

But Mehitable shook her head, begging him to give it to Master Jones. His attention directed to the pathetic wounded figure of the latter, Tolliver looked grim. He bent over the other, the girl watching with bated breath, not knowing what he was about to do.

"Bad work here. I fear," he muttered at last, his