The house became a ruin. Fortu
nately the cottage of the foreman was
large and commodious, and here the
inmates found shelter and comfort.
No one was injured, and much had
been saved, though the beautiful house
was in ruins.
One by one the guests of that gay
summer-time departed. Leah remain
ed with her grandfather; Preston Ath
erton. too, and Brette Delford, whose
services he needed.
“Fortunately I am not quite without
ready money,” said the old man cheer
fully. “The little scarlet trunk—what
did you do with it, Preston?”
The young man looked up in sur
prise.
“I remember nothing of the kind,
sir?”
The good old man had his faults; he
was quick tempered.
“Tut, tut! what are you talking
about? You promised to carry it to a
safe place.”
“I saw him take it,” asserted Brette.
The young man’s bewilderment had
the appearance of dishonesty.
“There was a thousand dollars in the
trunk. Produce it at once!” cried the
old man.
“I remember nothing of receiving it,”
was all Preston could say.
He racked his brains; he talked over
every incident of the fire with Leah,
but all to no purpose. He was wretch
ed; they both were.
Grandsire Lyndon seemed strangely
bitter and hard. The catastrophe had
greatly disturbed him. He was not
like his old self, Leah said, sadly. But
a thousand dollars was not a slight loss
for anybody. It was far too much for
a young man like Preston Atherton to
miss accounting for.
Day by day he grew more dejected,
as the old man grew harder, colder and
more suspicious. Leah saw, soon, how
Brette Delford added to those unjust
suspicions.
