e staircase and disappeared.

Ten minutes had not elapsed before he seemed to come silently out of the
gloom again, and was half-way to the door, when there was a faint creak
from below, as if from a rusty hinge.

The old man stopped short, crouching down by the balustrade, listening,
his eyes shining in the dim twilight; but no other sound was heard, and
he rose quickly, ran softly down, and with trembling hands opened the
door.

Mr Girtle came slowly out, looking sad and depressed, and laid his hand
upon the Indian's shoulder.

"You mean to watch, then," he said.

The Indian nodded quickly, his eyes gazing searchingly at the lawyer the
while.

"Are you going in, or here?"

"My place was at the Sahib's door."

"Good!" said the solicitor, bowing his head; and he returned to the
drawing-room, Ramo watching him suspiciously till the door closed.

As he stood there, the dusky tint of the robe he now wore seemed to lend
itself to the surrounding gloom, being almost invisible against the
portal, as he remained there with his fingers nervously quivering, and
his face drawn by the agitation of his breast.

He shook his head violently the next moment, clasped his hands together,
and sank down once more upon the lion-skin mat, bent to the very floor,
more like some rounded mass than a human being: while the great centaur
was indistinctly seen, with his raised club, as if about to repeat the
blow that had crushed the old Indian into a motionless heap.

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE LAWYER'S TIN BOX.

"This has been a terrible week, Katrine," said Lydia Lawrence, taking
her cousin's hand.

"Do you think so?"

"Oh, yes. I have not your _sang froid_. I would give anything to go
back to the country."

"I have been curious to know all about the will. That old man has been
maddening. He might have spoken."

"But his instructions, clear. The will was to be read after he had lain
there a week."

"Lain in state," said Katrine, with a curl of her lip. "With a savage
crouching on a lion-skin at his door like some dog. Pah! It is absurd.
More like a scent in a French play than a bit of nineteenth century
life."

Lydia sighed.

"I felt greatly relieved when those dreadful men had gone."

"What, the Italian professors? Pooh! what a child you are. I did not
mind."

Lydia gazed at her with a feeling of shrinking wonder, and there was
something almost fierce in the beautiful eyes, as Katrine sat there by
one of