as the last house in Beauchamp Row, and it stood several rods away
from its nearest neighbour. It was a pretty house in the daytime, but
owing to its deep, sloping roof and small bediamonded windows it had a
lonesome look at night, notwithstanding the crimson hall-light which
shone through the leaves of its vine-covered doorway.

Ned Chivers lived in it with his six months' married bride, and as he
was both a busy fellow and a gay one there were many evenings when
pretty Letty Chivers sat alone until near midnight.

She was of an uncomplaining spirit, however, and said little, though
there were times when both the day and evening seemed very long and
married life not altogether the paradise she had expected.

On this evening--a memorable evening for her, the 24th of December,
1911--she had expected her husband to remain with her, for it was not
only Christmas eve, but the night when, as manager of a large
manufacturing concern, he brought up from New York the money with which
to pay off the men on the next working day, and he never left her when
there was any unusual amount of money in the house. But with the first
glimpse she had of his figure coming up the road she saw that for some
reason it was not to be thus to-night, and, indignant, alarmed almost,
at the prospect of a lonesome evening under such circumstances, she ran
hastily down to the gate to meet him, crying:

"Oh, Ned, you look so troubled I know you have only come home for a
hurried supper. But you cannot leave me to-night. Tennie" (their only
maid) "has gone for a holiday, and I never can stay in this house alone
with all that." She pointed to the small bag he carried, which, as she
knew, was filled to bursting with bank notes.

He certainly looked troubled. It is hard to resist the entreaty in a
young bride's uplifted face. But this time he could not help himself,
and he said:

"I am dreadfully sorry, but I must ride over to Fairbanks to-night. Mr.
Pierson has given me an imperative order to conclude a matter of
business there, and it is very important that it should be done. I
should lose my position if I neglected the matter, and no one but
Hasbrouck and Suffern knows that we keep the money in the house. I have
always given out that I intrusted it to Hale's safe over night."

"But I cannot stand it," she persisted. "You have never left me on these
nights. That is why I let Tennie go. I will spend the evening at The
Larches, or, better still, call