The knight and his followers crossed the threshold, leaving one of the torch-bearers behind them. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. We got your message, but you never stay out this late. "I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment.
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