s, my dear, before I let you
into the secret."

In ten minutes more they were all three in the farmhouse parlor. Nobody
but the farmer's wife was at home. The good woman trembled from head to
foot at the sight of Old Sharon. In all her harmless life she had never
yet seen humanity under the aspect in which it was now presented to her.
"Mercy preserve us, Miss!" she whispered to Isabel, "how come you to
be in such company as _that?_" Instructed by Isabel, she produced the
necessary materials for writing and sealing--and, that done, she shrank
away to the door. "Please to excuse me, miss," she said with a last
horrified look at her venerable visitor; "I really can't stand the sight
of such a blot of dirt as that in my nice clean parlor." With those
words she disappeared, and was seen no more.

Perfectly indifferent to his reception, Old Sharon wrote, inclosed what
he had written in an envelope; and sealed it (in the absence of anything
better fitted for his purpose) with the mouthpiece of his pipe.

"Now, miss," he said, "you give me your word of honor,"--he stopped and
looked round at Moody with a grin--"and you give me yours, that you
won't either of you break the seal on this envelope till the expiration
of one week from the present day. There are the conditions, Miss Isabel,
on which I'll give you your information. If you stop to dispute with me,
the candle's alight, and I'll burn it!"

It was useless to contend with him. Isabel and Moody gave him the
promise that he required. He handed the sealed envelope to Isabel with
a low bow. "When the week's out," he said, "you will own I'm a cleverer
fellow than you think me now. Wish you good evening, Miss. Come along,
Puggy! Farewell to the horrid clean country, and back again to the nice
London stink!"

He nodded to Moody--he leered at Isabel--he chuckled to himself--he left
the farmhouse.

CHAPTER XV.

ISABEL looked down at the letter in her hand--considered it in
silence--and turned to Moody. "I feel tempted to open it already," she
said.

"After giving your promise?" Moody gently remonstrated.

Isabel met that objection with a woman's logic.

"Does a promise matter?" she asked, "when one gives it to a dirty,
disreputable, presuming old wretch like Mr. Sharon? It's a wonder to me
that you trust such a creature. _I_ wouldn't!"

"I doubted him just as you do," Moody answered, "when I first saw him in
company with Mr. Troy. But there was something in the