"'Taint my fault, you know," she said, in a hoarse voice; "it's him--he made me write. I'd keep her to the end, but he says that we won't have it any more. It's a fool's trick, for she never leaves her room." "It's plain enough," said Richard, contemptuously, "you want more money." The woman smiled grimly. "He says he won't have it any more," was all she said. "What reason does he give?" said Richard, sharply. "Oh!" said the woman, "he says that it has got about that we keep a mad woman in the house without having a license; and the neighbours talk, and there will be a summons about it some time or another. He hates to go out, he says--just as if that matters. Don't you think it might be managed after all? I don't want to part with her." "Yes--no," said Richard Pellet, correcting himself. "You've thrown up a good thing, and now I shall make another arrangement." "Well," said the woman, in surly tones, "I was obliged to write--he made me. But you've no call to complain; she's been here now best part of nine years, and always well taken care of, and at a lower rate than you would have paid at a private asylum. You ought to have let me have the child as well. No one could have kept her closer." "What?" said Richard, harshly. "Well, that was only once; and I took precious good care that she did not play me such a trick a second time. She wasn't away long, though," said the woman, laughing. "There! send her down," said Richard Pellet, impatiently. "I don't mind telling you, now," said the woman, not heeding the remark, "she's very little trouble; sits and works all day long without speaking." "Humph!" ejaculated Richard Pellet; "now that there's no more money to be made by contrary statements, you can be honest." "Well," said the woman, "other people may find out things for themselves. Nobody taught me." Then she left the room. A few minutes elapsed, and then a pale, dark-haired woman, with a pitiful, almost imploring aspect, entered the room, clasped her hands tightly together, and stood gazing in Richard's Pellet's face. "I'm going to take you away from here, Ellen," he said. For a few moments the pale face lit up as with some show of animation; the woman exclaimed--"To see my child, Richard?" "I'm going to take you away from here," he replied, coldly; "so be ready to-morrow." The light faded from the countenance of the woman in an instant, to leave it dull and inanimate. She pressed her hand for an instant upon her side, and winced as if a pain had shot through her. Then slowly drawing a scrap of needlework from her pocket, she began to sew hastily. "I have made arrangements for you to stay at an institution where you will be well cared for," he continued; "that is, provided that you behave well." The faint shadow of a sad smile crossed the pale face as the woman glanced at him for a moment, and then sighed and looked down. "Do you hear what I say?" said Richard, roughly.