MISS GWYNNE'S BURGLAR, By Violet Etynge Mitchell |IN the heart of Wales, nestling between two dark frowning mountains, and lulled to drowsy indifference of the big outside world by the murmurs of the not far distant sea, stands the little village of Cod-y-glyn. Just outside the village, on the main road stands--or did stand ten years ago--an old stone house, in the middle of a large garden, which was surrounded on all sides by a high wall, also of stone. It was the pride of the owner, Miss Gwynne. One night, in the early spring of the year, there was to be a wedding at Cod-y-Glyn--a wedding in humble life, but anticipated with great glee by the invited guests, among whom were Miss Gwynne's servants, the coachman and his wife (who was also cook) and Ylva, their daughter, employed as a maid-of-all-work. Knowing the disappointment it would be to them if they were denied the pleasure of attending the wedding, she had declined the coachman's offer to remain with her, allowing his wife and daughter to go, and laughingly assured him that with her father's gun for company she feared nothing. Miss Gwynne retired at an early hour, having locked up the house. She lay for some time gazing through the window at the twinkling stars, lost in quiet retrospection. I will let Miss Gwynne tell the rest of the story in her own way, repeating as well as I can from memory the words as I heard them from her lips ten years ago. ***** I cannot tell if I dozed or not, but I was conscious of the moon shining dimly through the clouds, and I wondered how long I had lain there. Reaching out for my watch, which lay on the table, I was horrified to feel my wrist grasped and held by a firm hand. To say I was frightened would be less correct than to say I was astounded, for I have always been a woman of steady nerve, and the present occasion called for its use. The moon had retired behind a heavy curtain of clouds, and the room was in complete darkness, but from the drapery at my bedside issued a voice, and at the same time the python-like grasp on my wrist relaxed. “I beg to apologize, madam,” said this voice; “I have chosen a bungling manner of awakening you--foreign to my custom. Pardon me, and do not be alarmed. I merely wish to relieve you of any superfluous silver, jewelry or bank notes you do not absolutely need. But as the vandalism of breaking locks is out of my line, I will request you to arise and show me where such things are kept.” By the time he had finished this speech I was myself again. “Very well,” I said, “I'll get up and show you; but, as it is embarrassing to dress in your presence, will you step out into the hall and close the door while I put on my clothing?” There was a soft rustling of the curtains at the bedside, and the sound of footsteps on the carpet, and immediately afterward the door closed. “Five minutes, madam, is all I can give you,” remarked the burglar, as he disappeared.