“Yes,” said Helen, casting down her eyes. “He would come home to meals; but he had to attend to his business.” “He seems too old and infirm to be able to do much,” said Mrs. Gregory, compassionately. Helen was about to disclaim the age and infirmity, when the thought of the near relation in which Armstrong stood to her came over her mind in time, and she only answered, “Yes, ma’am.” “How long since your grandmother died?” This, too, was an embarrassing question for Helen; but the necessity of saying something prompted her to reply, “A good while.” Perceiving, though she could not conjecture why, that her questions confused Helen, Mrs. Gregory desisted. It was about four o’clock on the succeeding afternoon that Mrs. Gregory, who was sitting at the window, detected the bent form of the assumed old man slowly making his way up the hill. “Your grandfather is coming,” said she to Helen, who sat beside her. Helen tried to look as joyful as the approach of her only relative might be expected to make her; but the thought of the deception which she was even then practising towards a family who were showing her great kindness, and the still greater wrong which she was required to do them, made it a difficult task for one no better versed in dissimulation. Mrs. Gregory noticed it no further than to form the opinion that she was a little odd in her manners. As Helen expected, Armstrong requested her to walk a little apart with him; and then, dropping at once the whining tone he had assumed, inquired, quickly and peremptorily,— “Well, what have you discovered?” “Nothing,” said Helen, timidly, and as if deprecating his anger. “Nothing?” he echoed, his eyes lighting with indignation. “What am I to understand by that? “Come, child,” said he, softening his tone, as he saw that she was terrified by his roughness, “I don’t mean you any harm; but the fact is, I have placed you here to help me, and help me you must, otherwise I shall be compelled to carry you back to live with me in New York. Perhaps you would like to go?” “Oh, no, no!” said Helen. “Don’t carry me back! Let me stay here!” “Well, so I will, if you behave well. Now, tell me truly, have you no idea where they keep the silver? I know they have a large quantity of it.” Helen reluctantly admitted, that, although she did not know, she could form an idea. “Where?” asked Armstrong, eagerly. “In the pantry, at the west corner of the house.” “Humph! And do they lock the door at night?” “Yes; but the key remains in the lock.” “So far, so good. Does any one sleep in the lower part of the house?” “No one.” “Better still.” A moment afterwards, Armstrong added, a new thought striking him,— “I have not seen any dog near the house. Do they keep any?” “No.”