that sparkled back from polished steel or ruddy copper, while through the whole room droned the slow song of turning wheels.
There was a step on the flagstones behind Elizabeth just before she mounted the doorstep. As she had hoped, David had followed her. Both men glanced up as the boy and girl entered, but there was no pause in the talk, since any new presence seemed to make no impression on the tenseness of the scene. Even Dick scarcely turned his head as he sat like some brooding spirit above his master.
"Can't you stop those infernal wheels?" Donald Reynolds said, as they came in. "I cannot hear my own voice with them grinding away in my ears."
"David!" said the older man in tone of request.
With quick obedience, David stepped to the end of the room, pulled a lever, jerked a protesting, crackling switch and brought the whirring song to an end. Without the familiar sound the place seemed uncannily silent as Donald went on talking. To the presence of David and Betsey he gave no heed, having apparently but one thought, to speak the words he had come to say before Miss Miranda should return.
"So I made up my mind that you should be told what a great wrong you are doing Miranda," he resumed. "For ten years you have spent time and money on this worthless piece of work, pottering
