Read your letters and we will be gone." The minutes passed.

Outside Lynch's the western red faded, and the still, winter night came quickly on.

Within, fire and candles burned bright, but to not a few of Mr.Lynch's patrons the flames danced unsteadily.

It was an age of hard drinking; the day had been an exciting one, and Lynch's wine or punch or apple toddy but the last of many potations.

The assemblage was assuredly not drunken, but neither was it, at this hour and after the emotional wear and tear of the past hours, quite sane or less than hectic.