ow in
blaming the "good Samaritans" who work so enthusiastically even if
uninvited and unskilfully.

The plain English of all which is, that Josephine Harris had determined
to fathom the whole of the mystery lying between Richard Crawford and
his cousin, no matter what deceptions she might be called upon to pursue
in carrying out her plan, or what amount of time and trouble might be
necessary for that purpose. She might have applied the rules of Egbert
Crawford's own profession to him, in expressing this determination, and
said that enough had been proved against the suspected person, to put
him on his trial before a fair and impartial jury--that jury being
herself in the first instance. Herself and herself only. For once Joe
Harris determined to suppress her propensity for talking everywhere and
to everybody, and to admit no confidant whatever into a knowledge of
her suspicions. What else she intended to do, will in due time develop
itself in action.

As a first step, she smoothed down her face with her hands, under some
kind of impression that she could in that way remove the redness from
her cheeks and the startled look from her eyes. Then she ran into Bell's
chamber, assuming all the nonchalance she could pick up on the way, to
ascertain whether that young lady was likely to remain away from the
parlor for a brief period longer. She found her very busy among a
miscellaneous heap of dresses and millinery (this was before the visit
to the sorceress, which gave her something else to think about--let it
be remembered,) and in that occupation she was safe to remain for an
indefinite period. No visitors coming in, then, she was likely to have
the field below-stairs to herself for a short time at least, and that
time must be used vigorously.

She ran lightly down-stairs and into the empty parlor. There was no
sound whatever coming out of the little room of the invalid--he was no
doubt still alone. With the same care which she had before taken, she
stepped to the glass doors, slid them apart as before, and looked
through. Richard Crawford was yet lying on the sofa, and he was
_buttoning up his vest_. A very simple and natural movement, and one not
at all noticeable under ordinary circumstances; but to Josephine Harris,
at that moment, it seemed very significant. There _was_ poison; that
poison lay in the bandage; he _had_ suspected his cousin, allowed him to
change and replace that bandage, and the moment he believed him