“What is it?” he asked; “have ye come til me fer purtection from that ould brute baste?”
“No,” she answered, with a scornful laugh, “he hasn’t got so far as to strike me yet.”
Then she went on to tell of her chance opportunity; how she had improved it, and the discovery she had made.
“Good! good!” he cried, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and with greed. “But ye’re sure now the margage is on the Heath property?”
“Yes; certain sure. You’ll not get me into trouble about it?”
“Niver a bit, me darlint. And so that’s where the ould divil kapes his money, is it? How much do ye s’pose he has there?”
“I didn’t dare look,” she answered, evasively, “and he’ll take good care I don’t never get hold o’ that key again. You may count on that. Now I must run back and do that mendin’ afore he gits home.”
She flew back to the house and worked with nervous haste; the mending must be done before her husband’s return, lest his suspicions should be aroused. She had just completed her task, thrown the coat over a chair-back and set about getting supper, when he came in.
He gave her a sharp, suspicious glance, and passed on into the next room, where the strong-box was. He had been thinking on his homeward walk that perhaps she had found and made use of the key in those few minutes that it was out of his possession.
He would find out, he said to himself, and if a dollar of his precious store were missing, he would demand its instant return. Fortunately she could not have had time and opportunity to spend it.