t you, innocent as you are, go up them stairs."

Paul knew long ago how prejudiced the old man was in this respect.
During all the six months he had known Sylvia he had never been
permitted to mount the stairs in question. It was strange that Aaron
should be so particular on this point, but connecting it with his
downcast eye and frightened air, Paul concluded, though without much
reason, that the old man had something to conceal. More, that he was
frightened of someone. However, he did not argue the point, but
suggested a meeting-place. "Can't I see her in the cellar?" he asked.
"Mr. Norman said I could go down to wait for him."

"Sir," said Deborah, plunging forward a step, like a stumbling 'bus
horse, "don't tell me as you want to pawn."

"Well, I do," replied Paul, softly, "but you needn't tell everyone."

"It's only Bart," cried Deborah, casting a fierce look in the direction
of the slim, sharp-faced young man, "and if he was to talk I'd take his
tongue out. That I would. I'm a-training him to be my husband, as I
don't hold with the ready-made article, and married he shall be, by
parsing and clark if he's a good boy and don't talk of what don't matter
to him."

"I ain't goin' to chatter," said Bart, with a wink. "Lor' bless you,
sir, I've seen gentlemen as noble as yourself pawning things down
there"--he nodded again towards the floor--"ah, and ladies too, but--"

"Hold your tongue," cried Deborah, pitching herself across the floor
like a ship in distress. "Your a-talking now of what you ain't a right
to be a-talkin' of, drat you. Come this way, Mr. Beecot, to the place
where old Nick have his home, for that he is when seven strikes."

"You shouldn't speak of your master in that way," protested Paul.

"Oh, shouldn't I," snorted the maid, with a snort surprisingly loud.
"And who have a better right, sir? I've been here twenty year as servant
and nuss and friend and 'umble well-wisher to Miss Sylvia, coming a slip
of a girl at ten, which makes me thirty, I don't deny; not that it's too
old to marry Bart, though he's but twenty, and makes up in wickedness
for twice that age. I know master, and when the sun's up there ain't a
better man living, but turn on the gas and he's an old Nick. Bart,
attend to your business and don't open them long ears of yours too wide.
I won't have a listening husband, I can tell you. This way, sir. Mind
the steps."

By this time Deborah had convoyed Paul to a dark corner behind the