ing of them
in their blessed throats."

"How do you know I go to church?" asked Norman, with the snarl of a
trapped animal.

"Bless you, sir, I don't need glarses at my age, though not so young as
I might be. Church you enjiy, say what you may, you being as regular as
the taxes, which is saying much. Lor' save us all!"

Deborah might well exclaim this. Her master flung himself forward with
outstretched hands clawing the air, and with his lips lifted like those
of an enraged dog. "You she-cat," he said in a painfully hissing voice,
"you're a spy, are you? They've set you to watch--to drag me to the
gallows--" he broke off with a shiver. His rage cooled as suddenly as it
had heated, and staggering to the sofa he sat down with his face hidden.
"Not that--not that--oh, the years of pain and terror! To come to
this--to this--Deborah--don't sell me. Don't. I'll give you money--I am
rich. But if the opal serpent--if the opal--" He rose and began to beat
the air with his hands.

Sylvia, who had never seen her father like this, shrank back in terror,
but Deborah, with all her wits about her, though she was wildly
astonished, seized a carafe of water from the table and dashed the
contents in his face. The old man gasped, shuddered, and, dripping wet,
sank again on the sofa. But the approaching fit was past, and when he
looked up after a moment or so, his voice was as calm as his face.
"What's all this?" he asked, feebly.

"Nothing, father," said Sylvia, kneeling beside him; "you must not doubt
Debby, who is as true as steel."

"Are you, Deborah?" asked Aaron, weakly.

"I should think so," she declared, putting her arms round Sylvia, "so
long, sir, as you don't hurt my flower."

"I don't want to hurt her ..."

"There's feelings as well as bones," said Deborah, hugging Sylvia so as
to keep her from speaking, "and love you can't squash, try as you may,
though, bless you, I'm not given to keeping company myself."

"Love," said Aaron, vacantly. He seemed to think more of his troubles
than of Sylvia going to visit a young man.

"Love and Mr. Beecot," said Deborah. "She wants to marry him."

"Why, then," said Aaron, calmly, "she shall marry him."

Sylvia fell at his feet. "Oh, father--father, and I have kept it from
you all these months. Forgive me--forgive me," and she wept.

"My dear," he said, gently raising her, "there is nothing to forgive."

CHAPTER VI

A NOISE IN THE NIGHT

Both Deborah and Sylvia we