a sort of start.

"Yes." And Holdfast stepped close to his bedside.

"Can you keep a secret?"

Grotait started up.

"Yes!" said Holdfast, eagerly.

"THEN SO CAN I."

These were the last words of Ned Simmons. He died, false to himself, but
true to his fellows, and faithful to a terrible confederacy, which, in
England and the nineteenth century, was Venice and the middle ages over
again.

CHAPTER XIX.

Mr. Coventry, relieved of a great and immediate anxiety, could now turn
his whole attention to Grace Carden; and she puzzled him. He expected to
see her come down beaming with satisfaction at the great event of last
night. Instead of that she appeared late, with cheeks rather pale, and
signs of trouble under her fair eyes.

As the day wore on, she showed positive distress of mind, irritable and
dejected by turns, and quite unable to settle to anything.

Mr. Coventry, with all his skill, was quite at fault. He could
understand her being in anxiety for news about Little; but why not
relieve her anxiety by sending a servant to inquire? Above all, why this
irritation? this positive suffering?

A mystery to him, there is no reason why it should be one to my readers.
Grace Carden, for the first time in her life, was in the clutches of a
fiend, a torturing fiend, called jealousy.

The thought that another woman was nursing Henry Little all this time
distracted her. It would have been such heaven to her to tend him, after
those cruel men had hurt him so; but that pure joy was given to another,
and that other loved him, and could now indulge and show her love. Show
it? Why, she had herself opened his eyes to Jael's love, and advised him
to reward it.

And now she could do nothing to defend herself. The very improvement in
Henry's circumstances held her back. She could not write to him and say,
"Now I know you are Mr. Raby's nephew, that makes all the difference."
That would only give him fresh offense, and misrepresent herself; for
in truth she had repented her letter long before the relationship was
discovered.

No; all she could do was to wait till Jael Dence came up, and then
charge her with some subtle message, that might make Henry Little pause
if he still loved her.

She detected Coventry watching her. She fled directly to her own room,
and there sat on thorns, waiting for her rival to come and give her an
opportunity.

But afternoon came, and no Jael; evening came, and no Jael.

"Ah!" thought