"Gold!" said Miss Priscilla, sitting up straight and startled in her chair. "What gold?" "The gold pieces in the little cupboard, aunt. Did not you know they were there?" "I! No, indeed! I have never touched a thing in the desk since my father died—never been into the room since he was buried. How much gold was there?" "I don't know; I did not count it: six or seven gold pieces—English, I should think." "Where is the cupboard?" demanded Miss Priscilla, her eyes glittering and her face flushed with excitement. "In the desk, as I told you," answered Calista; "it is in one side of the desk, over the little drawers and shelves. Nobody would think it was there." "Then I dare say there is one on the other side just like it. I suppose you did not look to see?" "No, I did not. When I saw the money, I did not wish to meddle any further." "Calista," said Miss Priscilla, in a low, trembling tone, and laying her hand on Calista's arm, "you need not cut any carpet-rags, unless you like." "Thank you," said Calista, dryly. "And—and you may go to school to-morrow, and—and the rest of the term, if you will only go and bring me those gold pieces, and whatever else you can find in your grandfather's desk." "I would rather not, aunt," answered Calista, proudly. "There might not be quite as many as I said, and then you would think I had stolen them. And, by the way, here is a sixpence I found in the house this afternoon." Habit stretched out Miss Priscilla's lean fingers to the sixpence, and greed of greater gain drew them back. "You may keep the sixpence, child—only don't waste it—and perhaps I will give you more some time. No, I won't think you stole anything. Come, do go and bring that gold. It isn't safe. Some one else might find it." "Why not go yourself, aunt?" asked Calista, surprised at her aunt's pertinacity. "I will hold the light for you, if that will do any good." "No, no, I cannot, I dare not," quavered Miss Priscilla. "He might not like it—but he would not mind you." "He! Who?" "Your grandfather, child. No, no, I can't go in, but you will go. Come, now, I know you will." "Very well, I will go," said Calista. "Even if my grandfather were there, he has no reason to be angry with me. I have never gone against his will, or kept from him anything he ought to have known. Let me take the candle, and I will go." Notwithstanding Calista's bold words, she could not restrain a tremor when she found herself alone in the large, lofty, gloomy room. She was, however, no coward to give way to groundless fear, superstitious or otherwise. She set down her candle and opened the desk deliberately enough and began her search for the secret spring. Still she could not get rid of the feeling that some one or something was watching her. She was sure she heard a subdued stir somewhere, and, glancing toward the opening in the shutters, she felt almost certain that an eye was looking down upon her.