excrescence on the oldwall, which seemed to have been a bricked closet, now half destroyedand in ruins. She turned to descend, when a strange sound from UncleSylvester's room struck her ear. It was the sound of tapping on thefloor close to the partition, within a foot of where she was standing.At the same moment there was a decided movement of the plank of theflooring beneath the partition: it began to slide slowly, and then wasgradually withdrawn into the room. With prompt presence of mind, sheinstantly extinguished her candle and drew herself breathlessly againstthe partition.
When the plank was entirely withdrawn, a ray of light slipped throughthe opening, revealing the bare rafters of the floor, and a hand and arminserted under the partition, groping as if towards the bricked closet.As the fingers of the exploring hand were widely extended, Marie had nodifficulty in recognizing on one of them a peculiar signet ring whichUncle Sylvester wore. A swift impulse seized her. To the audacious Marieimpulse and action were the same thing. Bending stealthily over theaperture, she suddenly snatched the ring from the extended finger. Thehand was quickly withdrawn with a start and uncontrolled exclamation,and she availed herself of that instant to glide rapidly down thestairs.
She regained her room stealthily, having the satisfaction a moment laterof hearing Uncle Sylvester's door open and the sound of his footsteps inthe corridor. But he was evidently unable to discover any outer ingressto the inclosure, or believed the loss of his ring an accident, for hepresently returned. Meantime, what was she to do?
Tell Kitty of her discovery, and show the ring? No--not yet! Oddlyenough, now that she had the ring, taken from his wicked finger inthe very act, she found it as difficult as ever to believe in hisburglarious design. She must wait. The mischief--if there had beenmischief--was done; the breaking in of the bricked closet was, from theappearance of the ruins, a bygone act. Could it have been some youthfulescapade of Uncle Sylvester's, the scene of which he was revisiting ascriminals are compelled to do? And had there been anything taken fromthe closet--or was its destruction a part of the changes in the oldhouse? How could she find out without asking Kitty? There was one way.She remembered that Mr. Gunn had once shown a great deal of interestto Kitty about the old homestead, and even of old Mr. Lane's woodlandcabin. She would ask HIM. It was a friendly act, for Kitty had not oflate been very kind to him.
The opportunity presented itself at dusk, as Mr. Gunn, somewhatabstracted, stood apart at the drawing-room window. Marie hoped he hadenjoyed himself while skating; her stupid cold had kept her indoors. Shehad amused herself rambling about the old homestead; it was such a queerplace, so full of old nooks and corners and unaccountable spaces. Justthe place, she would think, where old treasures might have been stored.Eh?
Mr. Gunn had not spoken--he had only coughed. But in the darkness hiseyes were fixed angrily on her face. Without observing it, she went on.She knew he was interested in the old house; she had heard him talkto Kitty about it: had Kitty ever said anything about some old secrethoarding place?
No, certainly not! And she was mistaken, he never was interested inthe house! He could not understand what had put that idea in her head!Unless it was this ridiculous, shady stranger in the guise of an unclewhom they had got there. It was like his affectation!
"Oh, dear, no," said Marie, with unmistakable truthfulness, "HE did notsay anything. But," with sudden inconsistent aggression, "is THAT theway you speak to Kitty of her uncle?"
Really he didn't know--he was joking only, and he was afraid he mustjust now ask her to excuse him. He had received letters that made itpossible that he might be called suddenly to New York at any moment.Marie stared. It was evident that he had proposed to Kitty and beenrejected! But she was no nearer her discovery.
Nor was there the least revelation in the calm, half-bored, yetgood-humored presence of the wicked uncle at dinner. So indifferentdid he seem, not only to his own villainy but even to the loss it hadentailed, that she had a wild impulse to take the ring from her pocketand display it on her own finger before him then and there. But theconviction that he would in some way be equal to the occasion preventedher. The dinner passed off with some constraint, no doubt emanating fromthe conscious Kitty and Gunn. Nevertheless, when they had returned tothe drawing-room, Gabriel rubbed his hands expectantly.
"I prevailed on Sylvester this morning to promise to tell us some of hisexperiences--something COMPLETE and satisfactory this time. Eh?"
Uncle Sylvester, warming his cold blood before the fire, lookedmomentarily forgetful and--disappointing. Cousins Jane and Emma shruggedtheir shoulders.
"Eh," said Uncle Sylvester absently, "er--er--oh yes! Well" (morecheerfully), "about what, eh?"
"Let it be," said Marie pointedly, fixing her black magnetic eyes on thewicked stranger, "let it be something about the DISCOVERY of gold, or aburied TREASURE HOARD, or a robbery."
To her intense disgust Uncle Sylvester, far from being discomfited orconfused, actually looked pleased, and his gray eyes thawed slightly.
"Certainly," he said. "Well, then! Down on the San Joaquin River therewas an old chap--one of the earliest settlers--in fact, he'd come onfrom Oregon before the gold discovery. His name, dear me!"--continuedUncle Sylvester, with an effort of memory and apparently beginningalready to lose his interest in the story--"was--er--Flint."
As Uncle Sylvester paused here, Cousin Jane broke in impatiently. "Well,that's not an uncommon name. There was an old carpenter here in yourfather's time who was called Flint."
"Yes," said Uncle Sylvester languidly. "But there is, or was, somethinguncommon about it--and that's the point of the story, for in the oldtime Flint and Gunn were of the same stock."
"Is this a Californian joke?" said Gunn, with a forced smile on hisflushed face. "If so, spare me, for it's an old one."
"It's much older HISTORY, Mr. Gunn," said Uncle Sylvester blandly,"which I remember from a boy. When the first Flint traded near SaultSainte Marie, the Canadian voyageurs literally translated his name intoPierre a Fusil, and he went by that name always. But when the Englishsuperseded the French in numbers and language the name was literallytranslated back again into 'Peter Gunn,' which his descendants bear."
"A labored form of the old joke," said Gunn, turning contemptuouslyaway.
"But the story," said Cousins Jane and Emma. "The story of the golddiscovery--never mind the names."
"Excuse me," said Uncle Sylvester, placing his hand in the breast of hiscoat with a delightful exaggeration of offended dignity. "But, doubtshaving been cast upon my preliminary statement, I fear I must declineproceeding further." Nevertheless, he smiled unblushingly at Miss DuPage as he followed Gunn from the room.
The next morning those who had noticed the strained relations of MissKitty and Mr. Gunn were not surprised that the latter was recalled onpressing business to New York by the first train; but it was a matter ofsome astonishment to Gabriel Lane and Marie du Page that Uncle Sylvestershould have been up early, and actually accompanied that gentlemanas far as the station! Indeed, the languid explorer and gold-seekerexhibited remarkable activity, and, clad in a rough tourist suit,announced, over the breakfast-table, his intention of taking a longtramp through the woods, which he had not revisited since a boy. To thisend he had even provided himself with a small knapsack, and for oncerealized Kitty's ideal of his character.
"Don't go too far," said Gabriel, "for, although the cold has moderated,the barometer is falling fast, and there is every appearance of snow.Take care you are not caught in one of our blizzards."
"But YOU are all going on the lake to skate!" protested Uncle Sylvester.
"Yes; for the very reason that it may be our last chance; but should itsnow we shall be nearer home than you may be."
Nevertheless, when it came on to snow, as Gabriel had predicted, theskating party was by no means so near home as he had imagined. A shrewdkeenness and some stimulating electric condition of the atmosphere hadtempted the young people far out on the lake, and they had ignored thefirst fall of fine grayish granulations that swept alo
ng the icy surfacelike little puffs of dust or smoke. Then the fall grew thicker, the graysky contracted, the hurrying flakes, dashed against them by a fiercenorthwester, were larger, heavier, and seemed an almost palpable forcethat held them back. Their skates, already clogged with drift, werebeginning to be useless. The bare wind-swept spaces were becoming rarer;they could only stumble on blindly towards the nearest shore. Nor whenthey reached it were they yet safe; they could scarcely stand againstthe still increasing storm that was fast obliterating the banks andstretch of meadow beyond. Their only hope of shelter was the range ofwoods that joined the hill. Holding hands in single file, thelittle party, consisting of Kitty, Marie, and Cousins Jane andEmma--stout-hearted Gabriel leading and