and seizing a carafe of water from the table at his side, sent it whizzing after Bridge. It missed its target by a very close shave, indeed.
"Next time," said Mr. Romaine, "I will aim better."
Bridge returned to his seat by the fire.
All night the struggle went on. Mr. Romaine writhed in agony, but the determination to disappoint Bridge brought him out alive. When morning broke, the worst was over, and he seemed as likely to live as he had done at any time since Bridge first knew him. But the unhappy valet showed the terrible experience he had been through with, and his pallid face and nervous hands brought a grim smile to Mr. Romaine's face.
About ten o'clock Mr. Romaine announced that he would rise and dress, having made, many years before, a secret resolution that he would die with his boots on. Bridge, completely subdued, assisted at this toilet, and helped him into the library.
While shaving him, though, Mr. Romaine said, crossly:
"You are so afraid I am dying that you'll probably cut my throat out of pure nervousness. I have half a mind to send for that black
