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Warfield, Catherine A.

"Miriam Monfort A Novel"

" And so the parley ended.
I am certain that Mr. Bainrothe came no more by night to his
treasure-cave, but there was a mocking smile on his lip--when Evelyn
told him, before me, some time later, that I had caused a bolt to be
placed on the pantry-door, for fear of burglars--that was significant to
my mind.
"What is the use of this mystery with me," I thought, "when I alone am
concerned? Why not reveal to me at once the secret of the spring and the
lock, as I only am to be the beneficiary of all this gold? The man's
cunning is short-sighted. Suppose he were to die suddenly, how does he
know that I would ever be the wiser or the better of these deposits?
Years hence, when the house was crumbling to decay, some stranger might
be enriched by this concealed gold, for aught he knows, which is
legitimately mine. Evelyn, too, is in complete ignorance of this hidden
chest, I am convinced, and, as far as I am concerned, will probably
remain so. After all, does Bainrothe mistrust her honesty or mine? Good
Heavens! what a mole the man is by nature, how darkly, deeply underhand,
even in his responsibility! And there are two long years yet, nay more
to wait, before I can openly defy him and put him away forever. Loathing
him as I do, patience, patience! Rome was not built in a day. I shall
still prevail."
Months after this occurrence, months that passed swiftly because
monotonously to me, for by events alone we are told we measure time, I
was roused one night from my early slumber by the sound of bitter
weeping in Evelyn's chamber.


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