CHAPTER XXXIII.

STILL AT WORK.

It was in the Spring, after the death of Irene, that Scott one day sought the abode of old Meg. He had some very important business to transact and she was the one who could, and must help him in the matter. He found Meg and Crisp within, and entering the dingy room, Meg greeted him with eager expectation, and her black eyes sparkled as she offered him an old wooden chair. She looked more repulsive than ever, for her broad nose looked still broader, and her wide mouth seemed to grin more fiercely. Scott's searching eyes took in, at a glance, the filthiness of the place, and the odor of whiskey was offensive in the extreme.

"Sit down," said Meg. "You want your fortune told again?"

"No. You are in possession of a few facts of which I wish you to inform me, and I will pay you well if you will answer the questions which I ask you."

"What are they?"

"Will you answer me all you know in regard to a certain matter if I pay you well for it?"

Meg looked at Crisp in a way that said plainly: "Shall I, Crisp?"

Crisp, who seemed to understand the look, said:

"You might as well tell it if you get paid for it."

"What will you give me?" said Meg.

"I will pay you according to the amount of information I receive."

"Go on," she said, seating herself and lighting an old, blackened clay pipe.

"I wish you first to tell me when you think of leaving the city."

"I don't know that part," she said, turning uneasily around.

"You certainly have some idea of the time."

"I s'pose when the weather is warmer."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. You know folks like us go everywhere."

"Very well," said Scott, "you will then be unable to get the money which I shall bring, or send you."

"Maybe we won't go away at all."

"Then I shall, of course, find you here."

"Yes, but there is something that I could tell you now if I thought you would pay me for it."

"I will, if it is worth anything."

"It is about your wife."

"What of her?"

"I can tell you something that would make you curse her. You don't know her."

"What do you know of her?"

"I know her well."

"You do?"

"I know her, too," said Crisp.

"You would be surprised to know that I know more of her past life than you do," said Meg.

"Yes, and you would be surprised to know that she was a devil," said Crisp, fiercely.

"Take care," said Scott, "you must be more careful in your speech."

"Do you know who Irene Mapleton was before you married her?"

"I know nothing of her past life."

"I know things that you would like to know."

Scott was really in possession of more facts than Meg supposed, but he had no idea of allowing her to know it. He had an object in gaining all the information he could from her, but he was very careful to withhold the knowledge which he possessed. It was quite evident that Meg had not heard of Irene's death, and Scott resolved to keep the knowledge from her until he had heard her story.

"Tell me what you know of her," he said.

"I knew her years ago."

"How could you know her?"

"That's the mystery."

"But you claim to be a gypsy."

"So I am, but I knew Irene Mapleton years ago. You can't guess, if you are the smartest lawyer in all the land, where I found her. Oh, you thought you was marrying a lady, but you was only getting a--devil."

"Hush!"

"No, I won't hush. I know what I am talking about. She was a devil and I owe her a grudge yet, and mean some day to pay it back, good and strong."

"How did she offend you?"

"Some day I may tell you."

"Why not now?"

"I ain't quite ready."

"Will you tell me where you knew her first?"

"I knew her first when she was a baby, and I knew her father, too."

Scott was puzzled. He looked steadily at Meg as she continued:

"Yes, and I knew her mother, too."

"Who was her mother?"

"Oh, a rich, proud man like you would blush to know your mother-in-law."

"Meg," said Scott, "I do not believe you know anything about my wife."

"Oh, yes, I do, and some day I can convince you. Do you remember of a letter that an old woman gave you, one day, when you was leaving your office?"

"Yes, but it was not you."

"Never mind."

"Can you tell what the letter contained?"

"Yes, your fortune."

"That was only a piece of nonsense."

"Don't you see I know."

"Tell me how you know."

"Perhaps I won't; unless you pay me well for it."

"That I have promised to do if you give me the required information."

"Come one week from to-day and I will tell you the whole story. I can't to-day," she said, looking at Crisp.

Scott returned to his office, where he found a letter from Paul. He read the contents with seeming satisfaction.

"Bless the boy," he said, "he is true to the last. I wish every heart in the world was as honest as that of my boy Paul. He is coming back. How I shall enjoy his presence once more. He must have changed by this time. But he is Paul still and always will be; nothing can change him. If he ever comes back, I shall never let him go again," and this he wrote to Paul, "that he never need think of leaving him again; that his salary should be raised to any sum which he might name."

When Scott reached his home he found Guy and June in the family parlor, engaged in a very earnest conversation.

"You are just the one to settle this argument of ours," Guy said.

"What is it?" Scott asked.

"It is in regard to having a home of our own. Please tell us what you think of it," said Guy.

"If you leave it to me," said Scott, "it will take very little time to come to a conclusion. Certainly it is your right to act your own pleasure in the matter, and perhaps every person enjoys himself best in his own home, but unless you really object, it is my desire that you and June remain with us for the present, at least, for I do not see how we can live without her."

Guy would not be selfish enough, he said, to take her away, and so it was decided that June should still remain at home.

Spring came and brought the wedding, which was an elaborate affair, because June's friends, both real and pretended, were numerous, and it was quite natural that Mr. Horton, of the publishing house of Horton & Co., should be married in grand style. The wedding gifts were costly and numerous, and among them all the one that June prized most was a beautifully bound book of poems by "Auralia," and on the fly-leaf was written, in a bold, beautiful hand, the words, "From Paul." There were no elaborate wishes for her of a cloudless life in the uncertain future, but June knew that Paul wished in his heart it might be so.

Scott had called on Meg and found her dangerously ill. He spared neither time nor money to procure the best of medical aid and the greatest comforts that she needed to restore her to health. He waited patiently to see her pass through a severe sickness of many weeks, and it was with a feeling of relief that he learned of her convalescence. Not until early summer did he have the satisfaction of hearing her say that she would soon be able to talk to him. She dared not refuse to answer his questions, and even if she were compelled to frame a falsehood, she would not refuse to hold an interview, especially when there was money at stake.