“Good night, Philip.”

“Oh, good night—­there, get along,” he cried, impatiently, without looking at her, and gulping down a tumblerful of spirits.  Miranda closed the door and left the two men alone together.

They remained silent for a while, Bradshaw quietly sipping his liquor, and Philip evidently disturbed and angry.

“You’re sure ’twas she?” he asked at last.

“Oh, bother!” replied Bradshaw.  “I’m not a mole nor a blind man.  Don’t I know Moll when I see her?”

“Curse her! she’ll stick to me like a leech.  What could have brought her here?  Do you think she’s tracked me?”

“She’d track you through fire, if she once got on the scent.  Moll ain’t the gal to be fooled, and you know it.”

“What’s to be done?”

“Move out of this.  Take the girl to Virginia.  You’ll be safe enough there.”

“You’re right, Bradshaw.  It’s the best way.  I ought to have done it at first.  But, hang the girl, she’ll weary me to death with her sermons and crying fits.  Moll’s worth two of her for that, matter—­she scolds, but at least she never would look like a stuck fawn when I came home a little queer.  For the matter of that, she don’t mind a spree herself at times.”  And, emptying his glass, the libertine laughed at the remembrance of some past orgies.

While he was thus, in his half-drunken mood, consoling himself for present perplexities by dwelling upon the bacchanalian joys of other days, a carriage drove up the street, and stopped before the door.  Soon afterward, the hall bell was rung, and Philip, alarmed and astonished, started from his seat.

“Who’s that?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

“Don’t know,” replied his companion.

“She couldn’t have traced me here already—­unless you have betrayed me, Bradshaw,” he added suddenly, darting a suspicious glance upon his comrade.

“You’re just drunk enough to be a fool,” replied Bradshaw, rising from his seat, as a second summons, more violent than the first, echoed through the corridors.  “I’ll go down and see what’s the matter.  Some one’s mistaken the house, I suppose.  That’s all.”

“Let no one in, Bradshaw,” cried Philip, as that worthy left the room.  He descended the stairs, opened the door, and presently afterward the carriage drove rapidly away.  Philip, who had been listening earnestly, could hear the sound of the wheels as they whirled over the pavement.

“All right,” he said, as he applied himself once more to the bottle before him.  “Some fool has mistaken his whereabouts.  Curse me, but I’m getting as nervous as an old woman.”

He was in the act of lifting the glass to his lips, when the door was flung wide open.  The glass fell from his hands, and shivered upon the floor.  Moll stood before him.

She stood at the threshold with a wicked gleam in her eye, and a smile of triumph upon her lips; then advanced into the room, closed the door quietly, locked it, seated herself composedly in the nearest chair, and filled herself a glass of spirits.  Philip glared upon her with an expression of mingled anger, fear and wonderment.