" Eager, and yet heart-
sick, Matty turned it over with her old friend.
This was all:--
"Mr. Molyneux here. Very private. Papers in R. G. E."
And then followed a little burst of unintelligible
short-hand.
Poor Matty! She could not but feel that here would
not be evidence good for anything, even in a novel. But
she copied every word carefully, as a chief clerk's
daughter should do. She thanked the kind old lady, and
even kissed her. She looked at her watch. Heavens! how
fast time had gone! and the afternoons were so short!
"Yes, my dear Miss Molyneux; but they have turned, my
dear, the day is a little longer and a little lighter."
Did the old lady mean it for an omen, or was it only
one of those chattering remarks on meteors and weather
change of which old age is so fond? Matty wondered, but
did not know. Fast as she could, she tripped bravely on
to the avenue for her street car.
"The day is longer and lighter."
Meanwhile Tom was following his clue in the public
rooms at Willard's, to which, as he prophesied, Mr.
Greenhithe had returned after the unusual variation in
his life of a morning spent in the sanctuary. Tom bought
a copy of the Baltimore "The Sun," and went into one of
the larger rooms resorted to by travellers and loafers,
and sat down. But Mr. Greenhithe did not appear there.
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