“I suspect you.”
“But of what?” cried the Guest.
“Of caring more for the house that you came from than for the house that you live in.”
“But you know I was at home there once,” said the Guest, “would you have me forget that? Surely you will not deny me the freedom of my thoughts and memories and fond feelings. Would you make me less than a man?”
“No,” said the Master, “but I will ask you to choose between your old home and your new home now. The house in which you lived formerly is become our enemy—a nest of brigands and bloody men. They have killed a child of ours on the highway. They threaten us to-night with an attack in force. Tell me plainly where you stand.”
The Guest looked down his nose toward the smouldering embers of the fire. He knocked out the dottle of his pipe on one of the andirons. Two fat tears rolled down his cheeks; he was very sentimental.
“I am with you,” he said.
“Good,” said the Master, “now let us make the house fast!” {Illustration with caption: 'I will ask you to choose between your old home and your new home now.'}
So they closed and barred the shutters and locked and bolted the front door.
Then they lighted their bedroom candles and bade each other good night.