another meeting in the old church, but this time at night. the somberness of the surroundings was undiminished by any light. they were in absolute darkness. absolute darkness, but not absolute silence. noises strange and suggestive, but not of any human agency, whispered, sighed, rattled, and grumbled from far away recesses. the snap of wood, the gnawing of rats, the rustling of bat wings disturbed the ears of one of the guilty pair, till his voice took on unnatural tones as he tried to tell his story to his greedy companion. they were again astride the bench, and their thin faces were so near that their breaths commingled at times; yet fellows felt at moments so doubtful of all human presence that instinctively his hand would go groping out till it touched the other's arm or breast, when it would fall back again satisfied. he was in a state of absolute terror of the darkness, the oppressive air, the ghostly sounds, and possibly of the image raised by his own conscience, yet he hugged to himself the thought of secrecy which it all involved, and never thought of yielding up his scheme or even shortening his tale, so long as the other listened and gave his mind to the problem which promised them thousands without the usual humdrum method of working for them.

we will listen to what he had to say, leaving to your imagination the breaks and guilty starts and moments of intense listening and anxious fear with which he seasoned it.

"i did as you bid me," he whispered. "yesterday fresh orders came from abroad, in cipher, as usual. (it's an unreadable cipher. i've had experts on it many times.) i had hung it up, and though business was heavy, my business, you know, i had eyes for our fair friend, and knew every step she took about the offices. i even knew when her eyes first fell on the cablegram. i had my door open, and i caught her looking up from her work, and what was more, caught the pause in the click-click of the typewriter as she looked and read. if she had not been able to read, the click-click would have gone on, for i believe she could work that typewriter with her eyes shut. but her attention was caught, and she stopped. i tell you i've been humiliated for the last time. i'm in for anything that will make that girl step down and out. what was that!"

muttered curses from his companion brought him back to his story. with a gulp he went on:

"you may bet your bottom dollar that i watched her after that, and sure enough, in less than half an hour she had gone into the room where the safe is. instantly i prepared my coup d'êtat. i waited just long enough to hear her voice in that one song she sings, then i jumped from my seat and rushed to the door, shouting, 'miss lee! miss lee! your father! your father!' making hullabaloo enough to raise the dead and scare her out of her wits; for she dotes on that old man and would sell her soul for his sake, i do believe.

"great heavens, it worked! as i live, it worked. i heard her voice fail on that high upper note of hers, and then the sound of her feet staggering, slipping over the floor, and in another moment the fumbling of her hand on the knob and the slow opening of the door which she seemed to have no power to manage. helping her, i pulled it open, and there beyond her and her white, shocked face, i saw—i saw——"