The Villain-Worshipper
day, it was some hundred hours before he paid his third and last visit to the Melvins' music-shop. He rode boldly to the door, but he rode a piebald mare not to be confused in the most suspicious mind with the no more conspicuous Barmaid. It is true the brown parts smelt of Condy's Fluid, and were at once strange and seemingly a little tender to the touch. But Stingaree allowed no meddling with his mount; and only a very sinful publican, very many leagues back, was in the secret.
There were no lighted windows behind the shop to-night. The whole place was in darkness, and Stingaree knocked in vain. A neighbor appeared upon the next veranda.
"Who is it you want?" he asked.
"Mrs. Melvin."
"It's no use knocking for her."
"Is she dead?"
"Not that I know of; but she can't be long for this world."
"Where is she now?"
"Bishop's Lodge; they say Miss Methuen's with her day and night."
For it was in the days of the Bishop's daughter, who had a strong mind but no sense of humor, and a heart only fickle in its own affairs. Miss Meth-
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