r. Blake with his satchel in his hand,
came into the house. And how he did start, to be sure, when he saw them,
though he tried to say something perlite which she did'nt seem to take
to at all, for after muttering something about not expecting to see him,
she put her hand on the knob and was going right out. But he stopped her
and they went into the parlor together while Mrs. Daniels stood staring
after them like one mad, her hand held out with his bag and umbrella in
it, stiff as a statter in the Central Park. She did'nt stand so long,
though, but came running down the hall, as if she was bewitched. I was
dreadful flustered, for though I was hid behind the wall that juts out
there by the back stairs, I was afraid she would see me and shame me
before Mr. Blake. But she passed right by and never looked up. 'There is
something dreadful mysterious in this,' thought I, and I just made up
my mind to stay where I was till Mr. Blake and the lady should come out
again from the parlor. I did'nt have to wait very long. In a few minutes
the door opened and they stepped out, he ahead and she coming after. I
thought this was queer, he is always so dreadful perlite in his ways,
but I thought it was a deal queerer when I saw him go up the front
stairs, she hurrying after, looking I cannot tell you how, but awful
troubled and anxious, I should say.

"They went into that room of his he calls his studio and though I knew
it might cost me my place if I was found out, I could'nt help following
and listening at the keyhole."

"And what did you hear?" I asked, for she paused to take breath.

"Well, the first thing I heard was a cry of pleasure from her, and the
words, 'You keep that always before you? You cannot dislike me, then, as
much as you pretend.' I don't know what she meant nor what he did, but
he stepped across the room and I heard her cry out this time as if she
was hurt as well as awful surprised; and he talked and talked, and I
could'nt catch a word, he spoke so low; and by and by she sobbed just a
little, and I got scared and would have run away but she cried out with
a kind of shriek, 'O, don't say any more; to think that crime should
come into our family, the proudest in the land. How could you, Holman,
how could you.' Yes," the girl went on, flushing in her excitement till
she was as red as the cherry ribbons in her cap, "those were the very
words she used: 'To think that crime should come into our family! the
proudest one