that I knew she gave you.  And I longed to see her so much, that I have waited around the splendid house where she lives, and seen her time and again come out to ride, with the beautiful dresses, and the white feather in her hat, and the wild roses on her cheeks.  And my heart ached with such a hot, bitter pain!  But it’s all over now, Arch:  I am not jealous now.  I love her and you—­both of you together.  If I do go away, I want you to think kindly of me, and—­and—­good-night, Arch—­dear Arch.  I am so tired.”

He gathered her head to his bosom, and kissed her lips.

Poor little Mat!  In the morning, when Arch came down, she had indeed gone away—­drifted out with the tide and with the silent night.

After Mat’s death the home at Grandma Rugg’s became insupportable to Arch.  He could not remain there.  The old woman was crosser than ever, and, though he gave her every penny of his earnings, she was not satisfied.

So Arch took lodgings in another part of the city, quite as poor a place, but there no one had the right to grumble at him.  Still, because she was some relation to Mat, he gave Grandma Rugg full half of his money, but he never remained inside her doors longer than necessity demanded.

In his new lodgings he became acquainted with a middle-aged man who represented himself as a retired army officer.  His name was John Sharp—­a sleek, keen-eyed, smooth-tongued individual, who never boasted or blustered, but who gave people the idea that at some time he had been a person of consequence.  This man attached himself particularly to Arch Trevlyn.  With insidious cunning he wormed himself into the boy’s confidence, and gained, to a certain degree, his friendship.  Arch did not trust him entirely, though.  There was something about him from which he shrank—­the touch of his white, jewelled hand made his flesh creep, like the touch of a serpent.

But Mr. Sharp had an object to gain, and set himself resolutely to work to carry his point.  He made himself necessary to Arch.  He bought him books, and taught him in the evenings, when neither was engaged otherwise.  He had been well educated, and in Arch he had an apt scholar.  Every spare moment of the boy’s life was absorbed in his books.

By-and-bye Sharp learned the whole history of the wrongs, inflicted on Arch’s parents by old Mr. Trevlyn.  He snapped at the story as a dog snaps at a bone.  But he was, cautious and patient, and it was a long time before he showed himself to Arch in his true character.  And then, when he did, the revelation had been made so much by degrees, that the boy was hardly shocked to find that his friend was a house-breaker and a highway robber.

Long before he had formed a plan to rob the house of Mr. Trevlyn.  It was a field that promised well.  Mr. Trevlyn, with the idiosyncrasy of age, had invested most of his fortune in diamonds, and these he kept in a chamber in his house.  His chief delight consisted in gloating over these precious stones.  Night after night he would sit handling his diamonds, chuckling over his wealth, and threatening imaginary plunderers with destruction.