he was gone, Nina, too, ran downstairs. She went to a
chemist's, and boldly asked for a small quantity of a certain drug.

"Have you a prescription?" the man inquired.

"No, but I understand the right proportions to take. Why do you
hesitate? I am not asking for poison."

The man stared hard at the bright, queer face of his customer.

"The drug is not poison," he slowly repeated, "but taken in too large
quantities it can inflict an injury. I will give it to you, but you must
enter your name and address in this book."

Josephine laughed lightly, entered old Hart's address in the book, paid
for her medicine, and departed. As soon as she got home she took out of
a cupboard a decanter which contained a small portion of a very bright
and clear wine. She mixed a little of the powder with the wine. It
dissolved instantly, and did not disturb the rare amber of the liquid.
The rest of the powder Nina threw into the fire, burning both paper and
string.

When Hart came back, shaven and neat, his hair shortened, his long
snow-white beard trimmed, he looked what he was--a strikingly handsome
man. His grand-daughter possessed his regular features, but, although
her eyes were as bright as his, they were not dark. She had black
eyelashes and black brows, but the eyes themselves were peculiarly
light.

Nina was in an excellent humor now. She helped her grandfather with his
cooking, and by-and-by, as the day wore on, she tempted him to come for
a stroll with her. She spoke very little of her present life, nor did he
question her. He had a certain fondness for his grandchild, but it never
rose to the extent of a genuine interest in her concerns. Of late she
had been to him a valuable chattel--a trump-card, by which he could
extract the good things of life out of another. With Nina he was
powerful, without her he was a helpless and penniless old man. But he
did not love Nina because of this. He was proud of her for what she
brought him, proud of her because if he was lowly born she was not. But
he loved her, after the slight fashion with which alone he could bestow
love, because, notwithstanding that good birth, she also belonged to
him--she was bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh. The ties of blood
were strong with him, and because of these ties he loved her after his
fashion.

The two came home presently and partook of supper together. Nina bought
some figs and peaches, and they had quite a dainty meal. Nina herself
prepared