The Honorable Miss: A Story of an Old-Fashioned Town

by L. T. Meade

"No, but I understand the right proportions to take. Why do you hesitate? I am not asking for poison."

The man stared hard at the bright, queer face of his customer.

"The drug is not poison," he slowly repeated, "but taken in too large quantities it can inflict an injury. I will give it to you, but you must enter your name and address in this book."

Josephine laughed lightly, entered old Hart's address in the book, paid for her medicine, and departed. As soon as she got home she took out of a cupboard a decanter which contained a small portion of a very bright and clear wine. She mixed a little of the powder with the wine. It dissolved instantly, and did not disturb the rare amber of the liquid. The rest of the powder Nina threw into the fire, burning both paper and string.

When Hart came back, shaven and neat, his hair shortened, his long snow-white beard trimmed, he looked what he was—a strikingly handsome man. His grand-daughter possessed his regular features, but, although her eyes were as bright as his, they were not dark. She had black eyelashes and black brows, but the eyes themselves were peculiarly light.

Nina was in an excellent humor now. She helped her grandfather with his cooking, and by-and-by, as the day wore on, she tempted him to come for a stroll with her. She spoke very little of her present life, nor did he question her. He had a certain fondness for his grandchild, but it never rose to the extent of a genuine interest in her concerns. Of late she had been to him a valuable chattel—a trump-card, by which he could extract the good things of life out of another. With Nina he was powerful, without her he was a helpless and penniless old man. But he did not love Nina because of this. He was proud of her for what she brought him, proud of her because if he was lowly born she was not. But he loved her, after the slight fashion with which alone he could bestow love, because, notwithstanding that good birth, she also belonged to him—she was bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh. The ties of blood were strong with him, and because of these ties he loved her after his fashion.

The two came home presently and partook of supper together. Nina bought some figs and peaches, and they had quite a dainty meal. Nina herself prepared the board, and she put the decanter with the amber wine close to the old man. He ate and drank. He said the wine was good, and he helped himself twice to the sparkling contents of the decanter. "I feel in spirits to-night, Nina," he said, looking at his grandchild.

"Have a little more wine, Grand-dad," she said, in retort.

In spite of all her efforts, her voice had an anxious ring in it as she spoke. He looked at her keenly. He was as suspicious as man could be. He half-stretched out his hand to seize the decanter, then with a sly smile he replaced the stopper in the neck of the bottle.

"No, no, witch," he said. "This wine is rare and precious. It raises the spirit and warms the heart. I have not much more wine from so rare a vintage, and I'll keep what's in the bottle for another night, when you, pretty Nina, are far away, and the spirits of the old man fail him."