The others rose and stood looking on, Mrs.Newt hysterically weeping, and May pale with terror.
Alfred Dinks laughed, foolishly, and gazed about for sympathy.

Gerald Bennet drew his wife's arm within his own.
The old man sat quietly, only turning his head toward the noise, and looking at the struggle without appearing to see it.
Finding himself mastered, Abel swore and struggled with drunken frenzy.
After a little while he was entirely exhausted, and sank upon the floor.
Lawrence Newt and Gabriel stood panting over him; the rest crowded into the hall.

Abel looked about stupidly, then crawled toward the staircase, laid his head upon the lower step, and almost immediately fell into a deep, drunken slumber.
"Come, come," whispered Gerald Bennet to his wife.
They took Mrs.Newt's hand and said Good-by.
"Oh, dear me! isn't it dreadful ?" she sobbed.

"Please don't, say any thing about it.

Good-night." They shook her hand, but as they opened the door into the still moonlight midnight they heard the clear, hard voice in the parlor, and in their minds they saw the beating of the bony fingers.
"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!".