CHAPTER XXVIII.
Desires unsatisfied, abortive hope,
Repinings which provoked vindictive thought,
These restless elements forever wrought.
Southey.
"Good night," John Latimer says, as they stand at the gate of the eyrie. They have been spending a delightful evening. Prof. Freilgrath is on his way home, and after a brief visit must make a flying trip to Germany. Latimer has half decided to go with him, and has been persuading Floyd. It looks very tempting,—a two or three months' vacation.
"I ought to go up to the factory," he begins, abruptly. "Our watchman is down with the rheumatism. The foreman stayed last night, and I promised to send in some one to-night. Am I growing old and forgetful?"
Latimer laughs as he asks how much money is in the safe. If half a million, he will go.
"At all events I will walk up and see," Grandon says, and strides along.
There is no moon, but he has been over the road so many times that it is no journey at all. Silence and darkness reign supreme. He unfastens the door with his skeleton key, lights a burner in the hallway and a safety lamp which he carries with him. How weird and ghostly these long passages look! The loom-rooms seem tenanted by huge, misshapen denizens of some preadamic world. He stands and looks, and fantastic ideas float through his brain.