She ushered them into a prim, old-fashioned sitting-room that did not show much pretension to the wealth the Franklyns had written they were possessed of; but Kathleen was so glad of the great glowing fire that she ran to it and held her numb fingers to the blaze, with scarcely a glance at her surroundings. Uncle Ben followed her with a strange sinking at the heart. His impressions of Mrs. Franklyn--Kathleen's grandmother--were not favorable, it seemed. She was unprepossessing in her looks and manners, and she certainly regarded him in the light of an interloper. She had not extended to him the warm welcome that Northern people are led to believe is characteristic of Southern hospitality. Mrs. Franklyn pulled out a little table on which was arranged a tempting little supper. "I kept oysters and coffee warm for you," she said beamingly. "Now lay off your things, both of you, and eat before they get cold, won't you?" "I am so tired--my head aches--I don't think I can swallow a mouthful!" pleaded Kathleen, on the point of hysterical tears. Oh; why had she come? She was alarmed, somehow, and she wondered why her heart had failed to go out warmly to this new-found relative, as she had expected. Instead, she experienced fear and repulsion. But the old woman was not to be denied. She almost forced her reluctant guests to swallow some of the food, and then she bundled them off to their rooms with an alacrity that savored of anxiety to be rid of their company. "You must be dead tired and wanting to rest, and I'm free to confess that it's long past my usual bed-time," she declared. "Good-night, Uncle Ben. I hope you will rest well," Kathleen said, kissing the old man with quivering lips. Then they parted, each to their separate rooms. But there was no rest for Uncle Ben; his pillow was one of thorns, and he rose and paced the floor at midnight, restless and unhappy. "My heart is on fire! Oh, God, I can not bear this pain! Let me go out into the cold, dark streets and walk it off!" he muttered, restlessly, and hurried into his clothes. "I suppose I can easily slip out of this old, ramshackle house without arousing any one," he thought as he proceeded to open the door. But he recoiled with a start, for the door was locked on the outside! He was a prisoner in this strange house! CHAPTER XLV. IVAN RECEIVES A CHECK IN HIS CAREER. Full many a thankless son has been, But never one like mine. His meat was served on plates of gold, His drink was rosy wine. THOMAS HOOD. When Kathleen and her uncle had left the house on Commonwealth Avenue, Mrs. Carew turned to Ivan with angry eyes. "Is it true? Have you got that girl's diamonds?" she inquired. "Of course he has. You can read it in his guilty face!" chimed in Alpine, contemptuously. Ivan glared back at them with defiant eyes. "What are you going to do about it?" he asked, insolently.