The clerk whose duty it was to show visitors into Richard Pellet's private office ought to have been well paid, for he must have been a valuable acquisition to his employer. Doubtless it was the result of training--he was for ever supposing that "the firm" was engaged. It was so when Jared last called. It was so when Harry Clayton determined to try and make friends with the husband of his late mother, and appeared at the office door. And it was so when, an hour after, a plainly-dressed, pale-looking woman asked to see Mr Richard Pellet. But if, the clerk said, she would give her name, he would go and see. "Ellen Pellet," was the calm, quiet answer. "Mrs Ellen Pellet?" queried the clerk. "Yes," was the reply. The man stared, hesitated, went half-way to the inner office, returned, hesitated again, and then turned to go; while more than one head was raised from ledger or letter to exchange meaning looks, after a glance at the very unusual kind of visitor to Austin Friars. "It ain't my business," muttered the clerk to himself, and passing down the little passage, he opened the private office door of the firm, heedless of a light, gliding step behind him, and announced Mrs Ellen Pellet. "Who?" roared Richard Pellet, leaping from his seat, and glaring at the clerk. "It is I," said a quiet voice in the doorway, and Richard sank back pale and gasping in his seat. For the visitor was already in the room. "Oh yes! Ah, to be sure!" stammered Richard, striving hard to recover himself, with a miserable mask-like smile overspreading his features. "Glad to see you--sit down. That will do, Bailly; I'm engaged if any one should call." The clerk left the office, and closed the door, walking back to his stool with a prominence in one cheek which drew forth sundry winks from fellow-labourers in Pellet and Company's money-mill. But the door of Richard Pellet's private office was thick and baize-lined, and no inkling of the scene within reached the ears of the clerks. No sooner had the door closed upon them, than the smile was driven from Richard's face by a bitter scowl, and rising from his chair, he took two or three strides to where his visitor stood, hissing between his teeth--"Curse you! what brings you here?" Such a fierce aspect, accompanied as it was by threatening gestures, would have made many recoil; but Richard's visitor stepped towards him, and caught him by the breast, exclaiming-- "I have been unhappy lately; I could not rest there. I want my child!" "Curse your child!" cried Richard, in an angry whisper, and then, with a cowardly, back-handed blow, he sent the poor creature staggering against the wall; but her countenance hardly underwent a change, as, starting forward again, she caught him once more by the coat, repeating her words-- "I want my child!"