Murray Bradshaw plays his last card.

“How can I see that man this evening, Mr. Lindsay?”

“May I not be Clement, dearest?  I would not see him at all, Myrtle.  I don’t believe you will find much pleasure in listening to his fine speeches.”

“I cannot endure it.—­Kitty, tell him I am engaged, and cannot see him this evening.  No, no! don’t say engaged, say very much occupied.”

Kitty departed, communing with herself in this wise:—­“Ockipied, is it?  An’ that’s what ye cahl it when ye ‘re kapin’ company with one young gintleman an’ don’t want another young gintleman to come in an’ help the two of ye?  Ye won’t get y’r pigs to market to-day, Mr. Bridshaw, no, nor to-morrow, nayther, Mr. Bridshaw.  It’s Mrs. Lindsay that Miss Myrtle is goin’ to be,—­an’ a big cake there’ll be at the weddin’ frosted all over,—­won’t ye be plased with a slice o’ that, Mr. Bridshaw?”

With these reflections in her mind, Mistress Kitty delivered her message, not without a gleam of malicious intelligence in her look that stung Mr. Bradshaw sharply.  He had noticed a hat in the entry, and a little stick by it which he remembered well as one he had seen carried by Clement Lindsay.  But he was used to concealing his emotions, and he greeted the two older ladies who presently came into the library so pleasantly, that no one who had not studied his face long and carefully would have suspected the bitterness of heart that lay hidden far down beneath his deceptive smile.  He told Miss Silence, with much apparent interest, the story of his journey.  He gave her an account of the progress of the case in which the estate of which she inherited the principal portion was interested.  He did not tell her that a final decision which would settle the right to the great claim might be expected at any moment, and he did not tell her that there was very little doubt that it would be in favor of the heirs of Malachi Withers.  He was very sorry he could not see Miss Hazard that evening,—­hoped he should be more fortunate to-morrow forenoon, when he intended to call again,—­had a message for her from one of her former school friends, which he was anxious to give her.  He exchanged certain looks and hints with Miss Cynthia, which led her to withdraw and bring down the papers he had entrusted to her.  At the close of his visit, she followed him into the entry with a lamp, as was her common custom.

“What’s the meaning of all this, Cynthia?  Is that fellow making love to Myrtle?”

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Bradshaw.  He’s been here several times, and they seem to be getting intimate.  I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Give me the papers,—­quick!”

Cynthia pulled the package from her pocket.  Murray Bradshaw looked sharply at it.  A little crumpled,—­crowded into her pocket.  Seal unbroken.  All safe.

“I shall come again to-morrow forenoon.  Another day and it will be all up.  The decision of the court will be known.  It won’t be my fault if one visit is not enough.—­You don’t suppose Myrtle is in love with this fellow?”