t my aid. You have a
story to tell which no one will believe, for I alone hold the proofs.
Talk much about your fine secret, and what will be the result? People
will think you off your head. Be guided by me, and all comes right in
the end and in the meantime we share the spoils."

"The spoils," said Josephine, "what do you mean?

"I can give you a practical answer, Nina. I have made a good bargain, a
splendid bargain; seeing that I have only put on the first screw, my
success has largely anticipated my wildest hopes. Josephine, my poor
girl, you need no longer suffer the pangs of hunger and neglect. You and
I are no longer penniless. What do you say to an income? What do you say
to four hundred a year?"

Josephine put up her thin, white hand to her forehead.

"Four hundred a year?" she repeated, vaguely. "I don't quite know what
it means. What have we now?"

"Anything or nothing. Sometimes a pound a week, sometimes two pounds,
sometimes five shillings."

"And we have in the future?"

"Didn't I tell you, child? Four hundred a year. One hundred pounds paid
regularly every quarter. Got without earning, got without toiling for.
Ours whether we are sick or well; ours under any circumstances from this
day forward; ours just for keeping a little bit of a secret to
ourselves."

"A secret which keeps me out of my own."

"We have no money to prove it, child, at present. In the meantime, this
is a certainty. Whenever we get our proofs complete we can cease to take
this annuity."

"This bribe, you mean. I scorn it. I hate it. I won't touch it."

Josephine's eyes again gleamed with anger.

"I hate bribes," she repeated.

"All right, child. You can go on starving. You can go your own way, I
mine. For myself, at least, I have accepted the annuity; and if you
anger me any more, I'll burn the documents tonight, which give you the
shadow of a claim."

Josephine turned pale. There were moments when, fearless as she was, she
feared this queer old man. The present was one of them. She sat quite
still for a moment or two, during which she thought deeply. Then she
spoke in an altered tone.

"Grandfather, if I consent to make no fuss, to say nothing, to reveal
nothing by word or action, will you give me half your annuity?"

"Why so, Nina? Had we not better live together? When all is said and
done, I'd miss you, Grandchild, if you left me."

"You'd get over that, Grand-dad. These are not the days when people are
especiall