The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1899-09-16
shall say that rain might not fall the day

shall say that rain might not fall the day
after?"
Who, indeed?
1t seems the soundest reasoning. SO
Griselda, having shown herself impressed
by it, inclines her head to him once more,
and, turn in the path hiding him at last
from view, takes to her heels, and hard
ly draws breath until, haviLg found the
small iron gate that admits to the gar
den at its lowest end she enters by it
and feels herself at last a; home.
On the hall doorsteps, as if lying in
wait for her, stands Mrs. Crunch, the
housekeeper.
Dear me, miss, and so you have re-
turned" says she. Dear! but master
will be main glad to hear of it. He was
that upset by your absence that we
daren't SO much as approach him." Girl
selda's blood grows cold. But now he'll
be sure to tell you himself how glad he is
to see you back safe and sound"
CHAPTER V.
Mrs. Crunch, as Griselda left her, turn
ed aside, and with darkened brow made
for the library, Mr.. Dysart's usual abid
ing place. Not finding him here, she
hurries onward down the hall, until she
comes to heavy curtain, once handsome,
now moth-eaten and dingy, and pushing
it aside. reveals long tagged passage,
with high, narrow door at the extreme
end
STOPPING as she comes to it, she peers
through the keyhole, and finding it emp
ty, tries, with a cautious, quiet grasp,
the handle Of the door to find the latter
locked. Still very cautiously she slips her
hand into her pocket, draws out a key
well oiled, and inserting it in the keyhole,
softly opens the door.
A grim smile overspreads her face as
she looks toward the further end Of the
room. There, on his knees beside cab
met, kneels Mr.. Dysart. 1t is open, and
Mr.. Dysart, in his worn and shabby old
coat, is kneeling before the secret open
ing, gloating openly upon its contents
Piles upon piles of yellow sovereigns are
so built one on he top of the other that
they reach from one narrow resting place
to the other above, and so on. Dull, heavy
gold that scarcely glitters, save in the
eyes Of the wretched miser bending over
them.
Yet it is not so much on the money as
on a paper he holds in his hand that his
attention is concentrated. He is so bent
on the perusal of it that he hears neither
the turn of the key in the lock nor the
woman's entrance. And now, as a mali
cious chuckle breaks from her, it so star
ties him that he springs to his feet as if
shot, and a sharp, horrid cry, that is
almost a shrek, escapes him. His face
has grown deadly white, great drops of
sweat stand out upon his brow.
Comforting yourself with look at it,
says she, with a malignant leer. AS she
speaks she points not at the gold, but 1t
the paper he has tightly cutched in his
hand.
How did you come here, woman?' de-
mands he, in a shrill tone. He is trem-
bling, and with nervous fingers presses
the paper into the secret recess in the ca h.
met, and shuts to the oaken woodwork.
why, through the door," retorts she,
sulleny. How else? You should remem-
Der to lock it when engaged on work like
this"
Il could have sworn l locked it." saws
he, still shaking. See. here is the kew
in my pocket. / tell you," with increas-
ing agitation, 81 did lock it. Are YOU q
fiend that you can follow me through
bolted doors?"
Hush. Don't give way to foolish fan
cies. And after all, why need my COM
ing fuster you? Surely" with a mock
ing air, your occupation was an inno-
cent one; you were but refreshing your
self with a glimpse Of"
BE silent, woman! Are you mad?''
cries he lifting his arms like one in NOR
tai fear.
You're but a poor sort after ALL" she
says, contemptuously. Too poor for
faith or trust of any sort. What can
you not even believe in me, who has
served you and yours long and faithful
for forty years? Is it likely I'd betray
you now for his children?"
'Ay, he served you falsely once" saws
Gregory Dysart, SAVIOR of pleasure in
his tone.
''He took my best-my life, my soul
the heart of everything" says she, slow.
ly beating one withered hand upon the
other. Though years have rolled BY
have not forgotten; l shall not forget al
all. When first | saw them l felt as
though, if power were given me, l could
have blasted as they stood those insolent
hussies upstairs"
Something out of the goodly past, some
vague touch of decency belonging to the
| days when he was young and happy, and
| when honor was still q word to which he
chung with all his might, renders this
coarse epithet, as applied to the pretty or
phans committed to his care, insupporr
able.
! You hardly remember, perhaps, thai
you are speaking of my nieces," he saws
| with an angry frown.
"Hoity toity! None Of your airs with
me- says She sternly. She advances 8
step nearer to him. Remember, Dysart
that | can either make or mar you. l
and l only
Il would l were sure of that" says he
moodily. But Have you forgotten
Sedley? He knew"
| "Pish. He's dead; let him rest Whai
one you are to worrit. Twenty wear.
and more, and no sign of him, and | ask
| you was he the one to remain quiet, if he
saw way to forcing a sovereign out OF
| your
True, true says Dysart, eagerl,
catching at this suggestion. And vet
would give much to know that he was il
the grave
"Ay, and l in mine. l know YOU
says she, with an evil look. lyon fea,
me-"
Il fear nothing" says he, coldly.
What" says she, slowly, regardins
him closely; mot even that your sol
should know?''
! She pauses, pleased with her work. Al
at once, as it were, on hearing this ques
| ton, the old man quails before her like {
beaten hound. The life goes out Of him
be seems to shrink into himself, and put:
out his hands as though to ward off som,
| fatal blow.
| Not that. Anything but that" b,
mutters, feebly.
We'll, don't drive me to it." saws she
sulkily.
Remember. it was for him l did it
cries he, sharply. After all my love, ny
care, my secrecy, 70 have it now laid bar,
TO him. tell you'-his fingers workin.
rather than that he SHOULD
know, 1t seems TO me that it would be ,
sweet and simple thing to murder hin
who would betray me-
I'm not going to betray you," say!