s secretly at the bottom of half
the bad feeling among the men. I am certain of it--she keeps Mr.
Meadowcroft's mind bitter toward the boys. Old as she is, Mr. Lefrank,
and ugly as she is, she wouldn't object (if she could only make him ask
her) to be John Jago's second wife. No, sir; and she wouldn't break her
heart if the boys were not left a stick or a stone on the farm when the
father dies. I have watched her, and I know it. Ah! I could tell you
such things! But there's no time now--it's close on ten o'clock; we
must say good-night. I am right glad I have spoken to you, sir. I say
again, at parting, what I have said already: Use your influence, pray
use your influence, to soften them, and to make them ashamed of
themselves, in this wicked house. We will have more talk about what you
can do to-morrow, when you are shown over the farm. Say good-by now.
Hark! there is ten striking! And look! here is John Jago stealing out
again in the shadow of the tree! Good-night, friend Lefrank; and
pleasant dreams."

With one hand she took mine, and pressed it cordially; with the other
she pushed me away without ceremony in the direction of the house. A
charming girl--an irresistible girl! I was nearly as bad as the boys. I
declare, _I_ almost hated John Jago, too, as we crossed each other in
the shadow of the tree.

Arrived at the glass door, I stopped and looked back at the gravelwalk.

They had met. I saw the two shadowy figures slowly pacing backward and
forward in the moonlight, the woman a little in advance of the man.
What was he saying to her? Why was he so anxious that not a word of it
should be heard? Our presentiments are sometimes, in certain rare
cases, the faithful prophecy of the future. A vague distrust of that
moonlight meeting stealthily took a hold on my mind. "Will mischief
come of it?" I asked myself as I closed the door and entered the house.

Mischief _did_ come of it. You shall hear how.

CHAPTER IV. THE BEECHEN STICK.

PERSONS of sensitive, nervous temperament, sleeping for the first time
in a strange house, and in a bed that is new to them, must make up
their minds to pass a wakeful night. My first night at Morwick Farm was
no exception to this rule. The little sleep I had was broken and
disturbed by dreams. Toward six o'clock in the morning, my bed became
unendurable to me. The sun was shining in brightly at the window. I
determined to try the reviving influence of a stroll in the fresh
morning a