CHAPTER XIII—THE SPIDER BITES
I WAS so excited by the importance of Mary's accidental discovery that I folded up the paper, thrust it into my pocket, and was turning towards the desk, when Mary, in an aggrieved voice, recalled herself to my attention.
“Well, miss, maybe it ain't my business, and, maybe, it is, and I don't want to push myself forward, but—”
“Oh, Mary,” I said, “indeed it is your business, and a very important business, too, and just as soon as I think it safe to tell you, I will, every word of it; only I have to ask you to trust me just a little bit further, and to let me make use of this paper. You don't imagine how terribly important it is to me!”
I could see that Mary was shocked by my uncanny knowledge. “Indeed, Miss Gale, if you can make anything out of that heathen writin'—”
I smiled as reassuringly as I could. “It is not heathenish. It is Russian, and it was written by a sort of clergy man.”
“Oh, miss! And under the rustic bench in our arbor!”
“Yes, Mary. I know it all sounds as wild as a dream, and I can't explain it just yet, but you will trust me, Mary, a little longer, and keep the secret of this paper to yourself? Don't mention it; don't even whisper of it; don't show that you have ever heard of such a thing—everything depends upon this.”
Mary had stood up, and now smoothed down her apron and drew in a doubtful, whistling breath which she presently expelled in sharp, little tongue-clicks—“Teks! Teks! Teks!” I translated all this readily. She did not like my superior and secret knowledge; she did not like my air of cool captaincy; she did not like my reserve, nor my disposal of her “devil-paper.” But the good soul could not help but be loyalty itself. She made no more protest than that of the “Teks!”—then said, in a rather sad but perfectly dependable voice, “Very good, miss.”
I came over and patted her on the shoulder.