“Quite sure; he breakfasted later than usual, I think, for I saw him throw open his side bedroom window at nine o’clock, and he was in his shirt-sleeves then.  He sleeps in a large room in the ell, you know.  I was standing at the pantry-door, and saw him distinctly, and he nodded to me, and called something, but I could not hear what it was at that distance.”

“Where was Charity at that time, Mrs. Austin?”

“Cleaning the house, Miss Miriam—­hard at work in the parlors, washing windows—­this is her cleaning-day, you know.”

“And cook, what was she about?”

“She got breakfast early, for us people, and went to mass, but was back by ten.  Miss Evelyn had her breakfast after she returned, with Miss Mabel, and there was no one to eat dinner down-stairs so she thought—­”

“Never mind what she thought,” I interrupted, “or who went and came, so that all be well.”

“You do ask such strange questions, this morning, Miss Miriam, and your eyes are so big!  Do you feel light-headed at all after your turn—­maybe you have fever?”

“Not at all—­hard-headed, rather, Mrs. Austin—­not even heavy-headed—­though leaden-hearted enough, God knows!  We are ruined, you know—­or at least Evelyn tells me so.  The rest I have still to learn—­I must see Mr. Bainrothe this evening.  There is a positive necessity for me to exert myself now, but first I have some examinations to make.  Give me a shawl and wrapper, good nurse, and my slippers.  Don’t disturb Evelyn, or call Mabel till my return; and stay where you are until then, if you wish to serve me.”

I sped rapidly down-stairs, and entered the dining-room so noiselessly that old Morton, who was a “little thick of hearing,” did not hear my steps nor move from his position by the fire, where he sat apparently absorbed by his newspapers.  “Morton,” I said, and laid my quivering hand upon his arm, “the time has come to act.  Come help me to secure my treasure.”  He rose silently to obey me.

I touched the spring of the mirror; it swung silently open, and revealed to the astonished old man a square niche built in the wall—­unsuspected before by him—­in which fitted an iron chest, the existence of which he had never dreamed of until now.  But the contents were gone—­gone since yesterday!  The chest was empty, with its lid propped open.  There was not even a paper within.

With a bitter groan I tottered back against the wall, while the cold dew stood on my brow, and my limbs trembled under me.  This was indeed despair!

“What ails you, Miss Miriam?” he asked, with an expression of anguish upon his kind, old, quivering face.  “Do you miss any thing—­what have you lost, Miss Miriam?”

“You left your post, Morton,” I said, at last, “and this is the consequence—­I have lost every thing!  Old man! old friend! did you think I charged you to watch every one who came, so earnestly, to stay here so constantly, without a good and sufficient reason?  Some one has been here before us—­my gold is gone! we are ruined, Morton!”