Cynthia Wakeham's Money. Anna Katharine Green

XI. Love 109 XII. How Much did It Mean? 122 XIII. Fresh Doubts 142 XIV. In the Night Watches 150 BOOK II. THE SECRET OF THE LABORATORY. XV. The Beginning of Changes 158 XVI. A Strange Visitor 169 XVII. Two Conversations 181 XVIII. Suspense 193 XIX. A Discovery 205 XX. The Devil's Cauldron 213 XXI. In the Laboratory 232 XXII. Steel Meets Steel 239 XXIII. A Growing Horror 249 XXIV. Father and Child 261 XXV. Edgar and Frank 272 BOOK III. UNCLE AND NIECE. XXVI. The White Powder 279 XXVII. The Hand of Huckins 286 XXVIII. In Extremity 300 XXIX. In the Poplar Walk 307 XXX. The Final Terror 315 XXXI. An Eventful Quarter of an Hour 327 XXXII. The Spectre of the Laboratory 332

CYNTHIA WAKEHAM'S MONEY.

       Table of Contents

BOOK I.

       A VILLAGE MYSTERY.

       I.

       A WOMAN'S FACE.

       Table of Contents

      It was verging towards seven o'clock. The train had just left Marston station, and two young men stood on the platform surveying with very different eyes the stretch of country landscape lying before them. Frank Etheridge wore an eager aspect, the aspect of the bright, hopeful, energetic lawyer which he was, and his quick searching gaze flashed rapidly from point to point as if in one of the scattered homes within his view he sought an answer to some problem at present agitating his mind. He was a stranger in Marston.

      His companion, Edgar Sellick, wore a quieter air, or at least one more restrained. He was a native of the place, and was returning to it after a short and fruitless absence in the west, to resume his career of physician amid the scenes of his earliest associations. Both were tall, well-made, and handsome, and, to draw at once a distinction between them which will effectually separate their personalities, Frank Etheridge was a man to attract the attention of men, and Edgar Sellick that of women; the former betraying at first glance all his good qualities in the keenness of his eye and the frankness of his smile, and the latter hiding his best impulses under an air of cynicism so allied to melancholy that imagination was allowed free play in his behalf. They had attended the same college and had met on the train by chance.

      "I am expecting old Jerry, with a buggy," announced Edgar, looking indifferently down the road. The train was on time but Jerry was not, both of which facts were to be expected. "Ah, here he comes. You will ride to the tavern with me?"

      "With pleasure," was Frank's cheerful reply; "but what will you do with Jerry? He's a mile too large, as you see yourself, to be a third party in a buggy ride."

      "No doubt about that, but Jerry can walk; it will help to rob him of a little of his avoirdupois. As his future physician I shall prescribe it. I cannot have you miss the supper I have telegraphed for at Henly's."