He moved reluctantly towards the door.

"Monsieur very angry," said Brutus.

"Shut the door," I said, "the draft is blowing the candle."

He pulled it to without another word, and I could hear him fumbling
with the lock.

For the last ten years I doubt if anything had been changed in that room,
except for the addition of three blankets which Brutus had evidently laid
some hours before on the mildewed mattress of the carved four post bed.
My mother must have ordered up the curtains that hung over it in yellowed
faded tatters. The charred wood of a fire that had been lighted when the
room was new, still lay over the green clotted andirons. The dampness of
a seaside town had cracked and warped the furniture, and had turned the
mirrors into sad mockeries. The strange musty odor of unused houses hung
heavy in the air.

I sat quiet for a while, on the edge of my bed, alert for some sound
outside, but in the hall it was very still. Then my hand fell again on
the hilt of my travelling sword. That my father had overlooked it
increased the resentment I bore him.

Slowly I drew the blade and tested its perfect balance, and limbered my
wrist in a few idle passes at the fringe of the bed curtain. Then I
knotted it over my hand, tossed a blanket over me, and blew out the
light. From where I lay I could see the running lights of the Shelton
ships swaying in a freshening breeze, three together in port for the
first time in ten years. The sky had become so overcast that every