"'Centum fronte oculos, centum cervice gerebat
Argus, et hos unus saepe fefellit amor.'"

But there was something about Myrtle,--he hardly knew whether to call it
dignity, or pride, or reserve, or the mere habit of holding back brought
about by the system of repression under which she had been
educated,--which kept even the old Master of Arts at his distance. Yet he
was strongly drawn to her, and had a sort of presentiment that he might
be able to help her some day, and that very probably she would want his
help; for she was alone in the world, except for the dragons, and sure to
be assailed by foes from without and from within.

He noticed that her name was apt to come up in his conversations with
Murray Bradshaw; and, as he himself never introduced it, of course the
young man must have forced it, as conjurers force a card, and with some
special object. This set him thinking hard; and, as a result of it, he
determined the next time Mr. Bradshaw brought her name up to set him
talking.

So he talked, not suspecting how carefully the old man listened.

"It was a demonish hard case," he said, "that old Malachi had left his
money as he did. Myrtle Hazard was going to be the handsomest girl
about, when she came to her beauty, and she was coming to it mighty fast.
If they could only break that will, but it was no use trying. The
doctors said he was of sound mind for at least two years after making it.
If Silence Withers got the land claim, there'd be a pile, sure enough.
Myrtle Hazard ought to have it. If the girl had only inherited that
property--whew? She'd have been a match for any fellow. That old