There were certain qualms of fear already unsettling his triumphant calmness.
While Justine Delande, with flaming cheeks, sprang up the stair, and barricaded herself with the sobbing heiress, the old man, his eyes gleaming with all the conscious pride of tyranny, seated himself and indited a note directed to PROFESSOR ALARIC HOBBS, (of Waukesha University, U.S.A.), ROYAL VICTORIA HOTEL, ST.

HELIERS, JERSEY.
He had already dismissed from his mind the sorrows of the orphaned niece--he cared not for the spirited onslaught of the Swiss woman--and he rejoiced in his heart at the fact of Douglas Fraser's departure to gather up the loose ends of his dead brother's great fortune.

"It's a vixenish baggage--this Swiss teacher! Hugh was right to bid me cut those cords at once and forever between them! The girl shall have discipline, and, that baggage, her mother, is well out of the world! I'll work Hugh's will! She shall come under!" With a secret glee he ran over a schedule of chapter headings upon Thibet, Tibet, Tubet--the land of Bod--Bodyul or Alassa.

He was drifting back into the dreamland of the pedant, but a few hours deserted.
"This Yankee fellow has a keen wit! His ideas on the Ten Tribes are wonderful! His life has been a study of the Mongolians, the Tartars, and the history of the American Indians! I will be a bit decent to the fellow, and I'll get at the meat of his knowledge! He's young and a great chatterer, maybe, but a help to me.

Body o' me! But to get there myself--to Thibet.
"Ah!" sighed the old misanthrope, "I'm too old now! And Hugh has failed me! Nothing from him.