The little man had just finished shaving and was getting back into his coat while George carried out the basin of water.  And Donnegan, as he buttoned the coat, was nodding slightly to the rhythm of a song which came from the cabin of the colonel near by.  It was a clear, high music, and though the voice was light it carried the sound far.  Donnegan looked up to Lord Nick; but still he kept the beat of the music.

He seemed even more fragile this morning than ever before.  Yet Lord Nick was fresh from the sight of the torn bodies of the two fighting men whom this fellow had struck and left for dead, or dying, as he thought.

“Dismiss your servant,” said Lord Nick.

“George, you may go out.”

“And keep him out.”

“Don’t come back until I call for you.”

Big George disappeared into the kitchen and the outside door was closed.  Yet even with all the doors closed the singing of Lou Macon kept running through the cabin in a sweet and continuous thread.

  What made the ball so fine? 
      Robin Adair! 
  What made the assembly shine? 
      Robin Adair!

And no matter what Lord Nick could say, it seemed that with half his mind Donnegan was listening to the song of the girl.

“First,” said the big man, “I’ve broken my word.”

Donnegan waved his hand and dismissed the charge.  He pointed to a chair, but Lord Nick paid no heed.

“I’ve broken my word,” he went on.  “I promised that I’d give you a clear road to win over Nelly Lebrun.  I gave you the road and you’ve won her, but now I’m taking her back!”

“Ah, Henry,” said Donnegan, and a flash of eagerness came in his eyes.  “You’re a thousand times welcome to her.”

Lord Nick quivered.

“Do you mean it?”

“Henry, don’t you see that I was only playing for a purpose all the time?  And if you’ve opened the eyes of Nelly to the fact that you truly love her and I’ve been only acting out of a heartless sham—­why, I’m glad of it—­I rejoice, Henry, I swear I do!”

He came forward, smiling, and held out his hand; Lord Nick struck it down, and Donnegan shrank back, holding his wrist tight in the fingers of his other hand.

“Is it possible?” murmured Henry Reardon.  “Is it possible that she loves a man who despises her?”

“Not that!  If any other man said this to me, I’d call for an explanation of his meaning, Henry.  No, no!  I honor and respect her, I tell you.  By heaven, Nick, she has a thread of pure, generous gold in her nature!”

“Ah?”

“She has saved my life no longer ago than this morning.”

“It’s perfect,” said Lord Nick.  And he writhed under a torment.  “I am discarded for the sake of a man who despises her!”

Donnegan, frowning with thought, watched his older brother.  And still the thin singing entered the room, that matchless old melody of “Robin Adair;” the day shall never come when that song does not go straight from heart to heart.  But because Donnegan still listened to it, Lord Nick felt that he was contemptuously received, and a fresh spur was driven into his tender pride.