beak, and the shriveled old mouth, puckered
into a sardonic smile, made him an almost comic figure. Trimmer stood at
attention by the head of the bed like a sentinel. His humility and
deference to both his master and Mrs. Swinton were almost servile; it
was always so in the presence of a third person.

"I am glad to see you sitting up and looking so well, father," observed
the daughter, after her first greeting.

"Oh, yes, I'm well--very well--better than you are," grunted the old man.
"I know why you have come."

"I wish to talk on important family matters, father," said Mrs. Swinton,
dropping into the chair which Trimmer brought forward, and giving the
valet a sharp, resentful look.

"You can talk before Trimmer. You ought to know that by this time.
Trimmer and I are one."

"If madam wishes, I will withdraw," murmured Trimmer, retiring to the
door.

"No--no--don't leave me--not alone with her--not alone!" cried the old
man, reaching out his hand as if in terror. But Trimmer had opened the
door. He gave his master one sharp look of reproof, and closed the
door--almost.

Father and daughter sat looking at each other for a full minute. The old
man dragged down the tassel of his skull-cap with his bony fingers, and
commenced chewing the end. The glittering eyes danced with evil
amusement, and, as he sat there huddled, he resembled nothing so much as
an ape.

"I am glad to find you in a good temper, father."

"Good temper--eh!" He laughed, and again the bones seemed to rattle in
his throat. The fit ended with coughing and whining and abuse of the
draughts and the cold.

"Why don't you have a fire in the room, father? You'd be so much more
comfortable."

"Fire! We don't throw away money here--nor steal it."

"Father, I beg that you will not refer to Dick in this interview by
offensive terms; I can't stand it. My boy is dead."

"Who was referring to Dick?"

His eyes sought hers, and searched her very soul. She felt her flesh
growing cold and her senses swooning. It had been a great effort to come
up and face him at such a time, but her mission was urgent. She came to
entreat an amnesty, to beg that he would not drag the miserable business
of the checks into court by a dispute with the bank, and there was
something horrible in his mirth.

"Hullo, forger!" he cried at last, and he watched the play of her face as
the color came and went.

"What do you mean, father?"

"What I say. How does it feel to be