up with two blazing eyes.

"For God's sake! Miriam!"

Carl Walraven started back, as if struck by an iron hand. The woman took
a step forward and confronted him.

"Yes, Carl Walraven--Miriam! You did well to come at once. I have
something to say to you. Shall I say it here?"

That was all Messrs. Johnson and Wilson ever heard, for Mr. Walraven
opened the library door and waved her in, followed, and shut the door
again with a sounding slam.

"Now, then," he demanded, imperiously, "what do you want? I thought you
were dead and--"

"Don't say that other word, Mr. Walraven; it is too forcible. You only
hoped it. I am not dead. It's a great deal worse with me than that."

"What do you want?" Mr. Walraven repeated, steadily, though his swarth
face was dusky gray with rage or fear, or both. "What do you come here
for to-night? Has the master you serve helped you bodily, that you
follow and find me even here? Are you not afraid I will throttle you
for your pains?"

"Not the least."

She said it with a composure the best bred of his mother's guests could
not have surpassed, standing bolt upright before him, her dusky eyes of