Archie Green was strolling up the hillside,--his pipe in his mouth, and his driver under his arm.

Mr.Sabin watched, and the lines in his face grew deeper and deeper.
"I am an old man," he said softly, "but I will live to see them suffer who have done this evil thing." He turned slowly back into the room, and limping rather more than was usual with him, he pushed aside a portiere and passed into a charmingly furnished country drawing-room.

Only the flowers hung dead in their vases; everything else was fresh and sweet and dainty.

Slowly he threaded his way amongst the elegant Louis Quinze furniture, examining as though for the first time the beautiful old tapestry, the Sevres china, the Chippendale table, which was priceless, the exquisite portraits painted by Greuze, and the mysterious green twilights and grey dawns of Corot.

Everywhere treasures of art, yet everywhere the restraining hand of the artist.