"And after all," she said, with spirit, "it
can't be gone far. Only last night here.
The chimney-sweeps— we must send
Crawford for the police directly. You did not
take the numbers of the notes?"  ringing the
bell as she spoke.

"No; they were only to be in our possession
one night," he said.

"No, to be sure not."

The charwoman now appeared at the door
with her pail of hot water. Margaret looked
into her face, as if to read guilt or innocence.
She was a protegée of Christie's, who was not
apt to accord her favour easily, or without
good grounds; an honest, decent widow, with
a large family to maintain by her labour,—
that was the character in which Margaret
had engaged her; and she looked it. Grimy
in her dress— because she could not spare the
money or time to be clean— her skin looked
healthy and cared for; she had a straightforward, business-like appearance about her,
and seemed in no ways daunted nor surprised
to see Doctor and Mrs. Brown standing
in the middle of the room, in displeased
perplexity and distress. She went about her
business without taking any particular notice
of them. Margaret's suspicions settled down
yet more distinctly upon the chimney-sweeper;
but he could not have gone far, the
notes could hardly have got into circulation.
Such a sum could hardly have been spent by
such a man in so short a time, and the
restoration of the money was her first, her only
object. She had hardly a thought for
subsequent duties, such as prosecution of the
offender, and the like consequences of crime.
While her whole energies were bent on the
speedy recovery of the money, and she was
rapidly going over the necessary steps to be
taken, her husband sat all poured out into
his chair, as the Germans say; no force in
him to keep his limbs in any attitude requiring
the slightest exertion; his face sunk,
miserable, and with that foreshadowing of
the lines of age which sudden distress is
apt to call out on the youngest and smoothest
faces.

"What can Crawford be about?" said
Margaret, pulling the bell again with vehemence.
", Crawford!"  as the man at that
instant appeared at the door.

"Is anything the matter?" he said, interrupting
her, as if alarmed into an unusual
discomposure by her violent ringing. "I had
just gone round the corner with the letter
master gave me last night for the post, and
when I came back Christie told me you had
rung for me, ma'am. I beg your pardon,
but I have hurried so," and, indeed, his
breath did come quickly, and his face was
full of penitent anxiety.

"O, Crawford!  I am afraid the sweep has
got into your master's bureau, and taken all
the money he put there last night. It is
gone, at any rate.  Did you ever leave him in
the room alone?"

"I can't say, ma'am; perhaps I did. Yes!
I believe I did.  I remember now,— I had my
work to do; and I thought the charwoman
was come, and I went to my pantry; and
some time after Christie came to me,
complaining that Mrs. Roberts was so late; and
then I knew that he must have been alone
in the room. But dear me, ma'am, who
would have thought there had been so much
wickedness in him?"

"How was it he got into the bureau?"
said Margaret, turning to her husband.
"Was the lock broken?"

He roused himself up, like one who wakens
from sleep.

"Yes!  No!  I suppose I had turned
the key without locking it last night. The
bureau was closed, not locked, when I went
to it this morning, and the bolt was shot."
He relapsed into inactive, thoughtful
silence.

"At any rate, it is no use losing time in.
wondering now. Go, Crawford, as fast as you
can, for a policeman. You know the name
of the chimney-sweeper, of course," she
added, as Crawford was preparing to leave
the room.

"Indeed, ma'am, I'm very sorry, but I
just agreed with the first who was passing
along the street. If I could have known— "

But Margaret had turned away with an,
impatient gesture of despair. Crawford went
without another word to seek a policeman.

In vain did his wife try and persuade
Doctor Brown to taste any breakfast; a cup
of tea was all he would try and swallow,
and that was taken in hasty gulps, to clear
his dry throat, as he heard Crawford's voice
talking to the policeman whom he was
ushering in.

The policeman heard all and said little.
Then the inspector came. Doctor Brown
seemed to leave all the talking to Crawford,
who apparently liked nothing better. Margaret
was infinitely distressed and dismayed
by the effect the robbery seemed to have
on her husband's energies. The probable
loss of such a sum was bad enough, but there
was something so weak and poor in character,
in letting it affect him so strongly—to
deaden all energy and destroy all hopeful
spring, that, although Margaret did not dare
to define her feeling, nor the cause of it, to
herself, she had the fact before her
perpetually, that, if she were to judge of her
husband from this morning only, she must
learn to rely on herself alone in all cases
of emergency. The inspector repeatedly
turned from Crawford to Doctor and Mrs.
Brown for answers to his inquiries. It was
Margaret who replied, with terse short
sentences, very different from Crawford's long
involved explanations.

At length the inspector asked to speak to
her alone. She followed him into the next
room, past the affronted Crawford and her
despondent husband. The inspector gave one