the dark old study, upward to the dangling spider overhead, and then at
the quiet little girl, who, try as she might, could not keep her
affrighted looks from his face, and always met his eyes with a loyal
frankness and unyielded faith in him.

"Oh, you little jade, what have you been overhearing?"

"Nothing, Doctor Grim,--nothing that I could make out."

"Make out as much as you can," he said. "I am not afraid of you."

"Afraid of little Elsie, dear Doctor Grim!"

"Neither of you, nor of the Devil," murmured the Doctor,--"of nobody
but little Ned and that milksop Colcord. If I have wronged anybody it
is them. As for the rest, let the day of judgment come. Doctor Grim is
ready to fling down his burden at the judgment seat and have it sorted
there."

Then he would lie back in his chair and look up at the great spider,
who (or else it was Elsie's fancy) seemed to be making great haste in
those days, filling out his web as if he had less time than was
desirable for such a piece of work.

One morning the Doctor arose as usual, and after breakfast (at which he
ate nothing, and even after filling his coffee-cup half with brandy,
half with coffee, left it untouched, save sipping a little out of a
teaspoon) he went to the study (with a rather unsteady gait, chiefly
remarkable because it was so early in the day), and there established
himself with his pipe, as usual, and his medical books and machines,