Mustn't do it. Shan't show it. Stuff. Nonsense. Let him
suffer. We can get him off. Show it? No. Let the worst come to the
worst. Show it, then.' The Mistress said--" He paused, and waved his
hand rapidly to and fro before his eyes, as if he were brushing away
some visionary confusion or entanglement. "Which was it last?" he
said--"Mistress or Maid? Mistress? No. Maid speaks, of course. Loud.
Positive. 'You scoundrels. Keep away from that table. The Diary's there.
Number Nine, Caldershaws. Ask for Dandie. You shan't have the Diary. A
secret in your ear. The Diary will hang, him. I won't have him hanged.
How dare you touch my chair? My chair is Me! How dare you touch Me?'"

The last words burst on me like a gleam of light! I had read them in
the Report of the Trial--in the evidence of the sheriff's officer.
Miserrimus Dexter had spoken in those very terms when he had tried
vainly to prevent the men from seizing my husband's papers, and when the
men had pushed his chair out of the room. There was no doubt now of what
his memory was busy with. The mystery at Gleninch! His last backward
flight of thought circled feebly and more feebly nearer and nearer to
the mystery at Gleninch!

Ariel aroused him again. She had no mercy on him; she insisted on
hearing the whole story.

"Why do you stop, Master? Get along with it! get along with it! Tell us
quick--what did the Missus say to the Maid?"

He laughed feebly, and tried to imitate her.

"'What did the Missus say to the Maid?'" he repeated. His laugh died
away. He went on speaking, more and more vacantly, more and more
rapidly. "The Mistress said to the Maid. We've got him off. What about
the letter? Burn it now. No fire in the grate. No matches in the box.
House topsy-turvy. Servants all gone. Tear it up. Shake it up in the
basket. Along with the rest. Shake it up. Waste paper. Throw it away.
Gone forever. Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara! Gone forever.'"

Ariel clapped her hands, and mimicked him in her turn.

"'Oh, Sara, Sara, Sara!'" she repeated. "'Gone forever.' That's prime,
Master! Tell us--who was Sara?"

His lips moved, but his voice sank so low that I could barely hear him.
He began again, with the old melancholy refrain:

"The Maid said to the Mistress. No--the Mistress said to the Maid--"
He stopped abruptly, and raised himself erect in the chair; he threw
up both his hands above his head, and burst into a frightful screaming
laugh. "Aha-ha-ha-ha! How funny! Why don't