r husband's name would explain the rest. But
he stopped to read no letters now.

"Show me the way to those falls," he cried, pocketing the letter as he
rushed by the disheveled Anitra into the open hall. "I'm her husband,
Roger Ransom. Who goes with me? He who does is my friend for life."

The clerk and one or two others rushed for their coats and lanterns. He
waited for nothing. The roar of the waterfall had told him too many tales
that day. And the will! Her will just signed!

"Georgian!"

They could hear his cry.

"Georgian! Georgian! Wait! wait! hear what I have to say!" thrilled back
through the mist as he stumbled on, followed by the men waving their
lanterns and shouting words of warning he probably never heard. Then his
cry further off and fainter. "Georgian! Georgian!" Then silence and the
slow drizzle of rain on the soggy walk and soaked roofs, with the far-off
boom of the waterfall which Mrs. Deo and the trembling maids gazing at
the wide-eyed Anitra shivering in the center of her deserted room, tried
to shut out by closing window and blind, forgetting that she was deaf and
only heard such echoes as were thundering in her own mind.

CHAPTER XIII

WHERE THE MILL STREAM RUNS FIERCEST

Two o'clock.

Three o'clock.

Two men were talking below their breaths in the otherwise empty office.
"That 'ere mill stream never gives up anything it has once caught,"
muttered one into the ear of the other. "It's swift as fate and in
certain places deep as hell. Dutch Jan's body was five months at the
bottom of it, before it came up at Clark's pool."

The man beside him shivered and his hand roamed nervously towards his
breast.

"Did Jan, the Dutchman you speak of, fall in by accident, or did
he--throw himself over--from homesickness, or some such cause?"

"Wa'al we don't say; on account of his old mother, you know, we don't
say. It was called accident."

The other man rose and walked restlessly to the window.

"Half the town is up," he muttered. "The lanterns go by like fire-flies.
Poor Ransom! It's a hopeless job, I fear." And again his hand wandered to
that breast pocket where the edge of a document could be seen. "I have
half a mind to go out myself; anything is better than sitting here."

But he sat down just the same. Mr. Harper was no longer a young man.

"The storm's bating," observed the one.

"But not the cold. Throw on a stick; I'm freezing."

The other man obeyed; then looking up, sta