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And suddenly it brought disaster upon him. The girl flew at him. "Why do you croak, you toad? I will have you whipped and put in irons, you scullion!" she cried, passionately. Shady underwent a remarkable change, and stumbled in his backward retreat. Then she snapped her fingers in Moze's face. "You black devil! Get hence! Avaunt!" Anson plucked up courage enough to touch her. "Aww!
Moze had apparently no connections. Madame Piriac, daughter of Mr. Moze's first wife by that lady's first husband, had telegraphed sympathies from Paris. A cousin or so had come in person from Woodbridge for the day. It was from the demeanour of these cousins, grave men twice her age or more, that Audrey had first divined her new importance in the world.
After dinner he strolled nonchalantly to the sideboard and opened a box of the deceased's cigars, and suggested that, as he was well acquainted with the brand, having often enjoyed the hospitality of Mr. Moze's cigar-case, he should smoke a cigar now to the memory of the departed. Miss Ingate then began to feel alarmed.
"Mother!" cried Audrey, and then sank like a sack. "Why! The little thing's fainted!" Miss Ingate exclaimed in a voice suddenly hoarse. Audrey and Miss Ingate were in the late Mathew Moze's study, fascinated as much unconsciously as consciously by the thing which since its owner's death had grown every hour more mysterious and more formidable the safe. It was a fine afternoon.
Moze's key-ring was lost. The theory was that it had been jerked out of his pocket in the accident. Persistent search for it had been unsuccessful. As for the unofficial or duplicate key, Audrey could not remember where she had put it after her burglary, the conclusion of which had been disturbed by Miss Ingate. In any case the second key was irretrievable.
Moze's existence was actuated, though he knew it not, by the conviction that the historic traditions of England were committed to his keeping. Hence the conceit, which was that of a soul secretly self-dedicated. Audrey, outraged by the hateful hypocrisy of persons over fifty, and terribly constrained and alarmed, turned vaguely back up the stairs.
Each of them had a magic glass to see in the other nothing but a local Effendi and familiar guardian angel of Moze. Moreover, Mr. Moze's public smile and public manner were irresistible until he lost his temper. He might have had friends by the score, had it not been for his deep constitutional reserve due partly to diffidence and partly to an immense hidden conceit. Mr.
Then into a space below me loped a beautiful deer, so large that at first I took it for an elk. Another sharp bark, nearer this time, told the tale of Moze's dereliction. In a few moments he came in sight, running with his tongue out and his head high. "Hyah, you old gladiator! hyah! hyah!" I yelled and yelled again.
Was it possible that a daughter could write in such a strain about the inquest on her father's body? The funeral had seemed a function by itself, with some guidance from the undertaker and still more from Mr. Cowl. Villagers and district acquaintances had been many at the ceremony, but relatives rare. Mr. Moze's four younger brothers were all in the Colonies; Mrs.
Jones at last recognized either his own waste of time or Moze's greatness, for he desisted, allowing the hound to keep close after him. The cougar, becoming uneasy, stood up, reached for another limb, climbed out upon it, and peering down, spat hissingly at Jones. But he kept steadily on with Moze close on his heels. I snapped my camera on them when Kitty was not more than fifteen feet above them.
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