otential significance and an unknown power.

What deep-laid plans might he not form to possess himself of Rosey, of
which he, Abner Nott, would be ignorant? Unchecked by the restraint of
a father's roof, he would now give full license to his power. "Said
he'd take his Honor with him," muttered Abner to himself in the dim
watches of the night; "lookin' at that sayin' in its right light, it
looks bad."

V.

The elaborately untruthful account which Mr. Nott gave his daughter of
De Ferrieres' sudden departure was more fortunate than his usual
equivocations. While it disappointed and slightly mortified her, it did
not seem to her inconsistent with what she already knew of him. "Said
his doctor had ordered him to quit town under an hour, owing to a
comin' attack of hay fever, and he had a friend from furrin parts
waitin' him at the Springs, Rosey," explained Nott, hesitating between
his desire to avoid his daughter's eyes and his wish to observe her
countenance.

"Was he worse?--I mean did he look badly, father?" inquired Rosey,
thoughtfully.

"I reckon not exactly bad. Kinder looked as if he mout be worse soon ef
he didn't hump hisself."

"Did you see him?--in his room?" asked Rosey anxiously. Upon the answer
to this simple question depended the future confidential relations of
father and daughter. If her father had himself detected the means by
which his lodger existed, she felt that her own obligations to secrecy
had been removed. But Mr. Nott's answer disposed of this vain hope. It
was a response after his usual fashion to the question he _imagined_
she artfully wished to ask, _i.e._ if he had discovered their
rendezvous of the previous night. This it was part of his peculiar
delicacy to ignore. Yet his reply showed that he had been unconscious
of the one miserable secret that he might have read easily.

"I was there an hour or so--him and me alone--discussin' trade. I
reckon he's got a good thing outer that curled horse-hair, for I see
he's got in an invoice o' cushions. I've stowed 'em all in the forrard
bulkhead until he sends for 'em, ez Mr. Renshaw hez taken the loft."

But although Mr. Renshaw had taken the loft, he did not seem in haste
to occupy it. He spent part of the morning in uneasily pacing his room,
in occasional sallies into the street from which he purposelessly
returned, and once or twice in distant and furtive contemplation of
Rosey at work in the galley. This last observation was not unnoti