ARCH-CONSPIRATORS.


When Mary Tiffin, who had been in the employ of the Townsleys ever
since their marriage, excitedly entered the parlor ten minutes after
the events narrated, it was empty. Mary was a comely maiden of
forty-three, of comfortable proportions and goodly to look upon. Her
cheeks were still attractively round; her glossy black hair was, with
much placidity, smoothed over her temples, cunningly brought above her
ears, and twisted in an alluring knot at the back of her head. Her
eyes were of that deep peculiar blue which generally is such a menace
to the peace of the sterner sex, and over which lovers are wont to
expatiate so tryingly to bosom friends.

Wringing her hands and ruefully shaking her head, Mary walked first to
one end and then to the other of the long room. Finally she broke out
in healthy Yorkshire dialect: "Wheere, oh, wheere can that lad John
be? I'm crazed wi' all this trouble; nivver did I see the missus so
worked up before, and she winna change her mind, no matter what is
said. I'm just as sure as I can be that if they part now they'll
nivver come together again. Who'd a thow't it 'ud ever come to this
between 'em." She fairly panted with the burden of her feelings.

Just as she was about to break out into fresh lamentations, the door
slowly opened, disclosing the sober face and lean figure of John
Herbert Bedford Lawson, confidential servant to Mr. Townsley.

"Eh, lad, but I'm right glad to see thee!" exclaimed Mary, as she
caught hold of John's meagre arm and unceremoniously hurried him into
the room. For some reason or other, Mr. Lawson evinced no especial