tracing idly in her mind, as various slight sounds rose from the lower
floor, the different things Soulsby was probably doing. Their spare room
was down there, directly underneath, but curiously enough no one seemed
to enter it. The faint murmur of conversation which from time to
time reached her came from the parlor instead. At last she heard her
husband's soft tread coming up the staircase, and still there had been
no hint of employing the guest-chamber. What could he be about? she
wondered.

Brother Soulsby came in, bearing a small lamp in his hand, the reddish
light of which, flaring upward, revealed an unlooked-for display of
amusement on his thin, beardless face. He advanced to the bedside,
shading the glare from her blinking eyes with his palm, and grinned.

"A thousand guesses, old lady," he said, with a dry chuckle, "and you
wouldn't have a ghost of a chance. You might guess till Hades froze over
seven feet thick, and still you wouldn't hit it."

She sat up in turn. "Good gracious, man," she began, "you don't mean--"
Here the cheerful gleam in his small eyes reassured her, and she sighed
relief, then smiled confusedly. "I half thought, just for the minute,"
she explained, "it might be some bounder who'd come East to try and
blackmail me. But no, who is it--and what on earth have you done with
him?"

Brother Soulsby cackled in merriment. "It's Brother Ware of Octavius,
out on a little bat, all by himself. He says he's been on the loose only
two days; but it looks more like a fortnight."

"OUR Brother Ware?" she regarded him with open-eyed surprise.