“And so we did, miss—the diamonds—we didn’t dare hide them with the other stuff, for fear they might happen to be found, and so they were sewed into the lining of our vests; but after awhile Tom said he’d found a chance to send them off and turn them into money, and took those I had away from me. I’ve never seen anything of them since—he never would tell me whether he had sold them or not, and I’ve never had a dollar for my share in that job. I was raving mad over it, until I had that fall, and then since I’ve been sick and had a chance to think it all over, I’ve been glad that I didn’t get anything.” The invalid was here interrupted by another coughing turn, and, while Editha was waiting for it to pass, she happened to cast her eye toward the window back of the bed, and there a sight greeted her that seemed to stop the beating of her heart, and freeze the blood in her veins, and a numbness seized her limbs, rendering her powerless to move for the time being. It was the face of a man—and _such_ a face!—pressed close against the pane, and his ear—_an ear with part of the lobe gone_—covering a small hole in the glass. He was a “burly-looking man,” with an “ugly face” on him, “heavy jaws,” and “fierce,” restless “black eyes.” His hair, too, was red, and—there could be but one person in the world answering to that description. In an instant—in that one flash of her eyes, Editha had recognized Tom Drake, the burglar and midnight robber! How long had he been there? How much had he heard, and did he recognize her as John Loker had done? were the thoughts that flashed through her brain during that brief moment that her quick, startled glance rested upon that appalling sight. Her first impulse was to cry out with fright, but with an effort she controlled it, and glanced hastily at the other occupant of her room, to see whether they were in any danger of also discovering the presence of the listener. She was glad to find that she alone was conscious of it. Milly, overcome by the genial warmth after her exposure to the cold, and also by the effective quietus of a full stomach, had fallen asleep by the stove, her head resting against the side of the house, while Mrs. Loker still kept her motionless position by the bedside, her head buried in the clothes; whether she also was asleep or not, Editha could not tell, but she earnestly hoped she was, for she feared, she knew not what, if the man at the window should become aware that his presence was discovered. The window was at the head of the bed; so, of course, the invalid was wholly unconscious of, and in no danger of knowing, that he had another listener to his confession. The man himself, Editha thought, had not seen her glance that way, for his ear had been laid against the hole in the glass, and he appeared to be listening intently.