The Nether Millstone

by Fred M. White

There she paused and looked about her furtively. There was nothing to be seen but the shadows made by the moonlight. Like a thief in the night Lady Dashwood crept along till she came at length to the end of the cloisters, where there was a stairway leading to some dilapidated apartment overhead. Once again there was a pause, and after that the aged lady began to climb the stairs. At the same time there came the unmistakable sound of voices overhead.

Lady Dashwood started and almost lost her balance. The sound was so unexpected, so utterly unlooked for. The voices were quite clear and distinct, too, on the still air. Lady Dashwood had no desire to play the eavesdropper, but it was impossible not to hear everything. The one voice was low and pleasant, and yet clear and commanding.

"I tell you it is impossible," the pleasant voice said. "You must allow me to conduct this business in my own way. I have already given you my word that everything will come out right in the long run. There is still six months of the time to expire, remember, so that you need do no violence to your conscience."

"Yes, but you have not taken Lady Dashwood into your calculations, sir," the other voice said.

"Indeed I have, my good fellow. I have forgotten nothing. Everything has been most carefully mapped out. As Lady Dashwood is more or less of a recluse, there is nothing to be feared from her. It will be a very easy matter to keep out of her way."

The listener fell back, clutching at her heart wildly. She was compelled to lean against the brown walls of the cloisters for support.

"I am dreaming," she murmured. "I shall awake presently and find myself in bed. I am getting old and fanciful, and my mind is playing me strange tricks. The owner of that voice has been dead for many years; it is a mere chance resemblance. And yet it is as real as if I had gone back over the wasted years. Is it possible----"

The speaker paused. It seemed to her that the two men overhead were coming down and she had no mind to be caught listening. She turned away swiftly, her slim ankle in its satin slipper gave a turn and a cry of pain escaped her. A moment later and Slight was by her side, looking at her with mingled sympathy and suspicion.

"Your ladyship has hurt yourself," he said. "Permit me to take you back to the house. What are you doing here at this time in the evening?"

There was something almost masterful in the tone of the question. In spite of the pain that she was suffering, Lady Dashwood turned a cold displeased eye on the speaker.