In a few moments I was aware that the feeling of antagonism against myself had extended itself to Alphonse Giraud, who smoked in silence, and whose gaiety seemed suddenly to have left him.

Not being of an expansive nature, I omitted to tax Giraud with coldness--a proceeding which would, no doubt, have been wise towards one so frank and open.
Instead I sat smoking glumly, and might have continued silent till bedtime had not a knocking at the door aroused us.

The snow was lying thickly on the ground, and the flakes drove into the house when I opened the door, expecting to admit the coast guardsman, who often came for help or a messenger in times of shipwreck.

It was, however, a lad who stood shaking himself in the hall--a telegraph messenger from Yarmouth, who, having walked the whole distance, demanded six shillings for his pains, and received ten, for it was an evil night.
I opened the envelope, and read that the message had been despatched that evening by the manager of a well-known London bank: "Draft for five thousand pounds has been presented for acceptance--compelled to cash it to-morrow morning." "Miste is astir at last," I said, handing the message to Giraud..