"She is dead, sir. Dead," the woman said, and sat down and began to cry. "She died the very afternoon the ladies came. I had the doctor to her. You can ask the doctor if you don't believe me. I'd have kept her alive if I could. She was my dear sister. I had only what she gave me----" "And you undertook to impersonate her?" The poor creature gazed at us with imploring eyes. "'Twas my sister that ordered it," she said, gasping with terror. "'Twas a pity the fifteen shillings a week the ladies were to pay should be lost to the family, my sister said. She put it in my head--she laid her orders on me before she died; she----" "And she was laid forth in the bedroom next to mine?" Julia said; "and moved from there next morning to the shed in the garden." "And from the shed taken at night to our brother's house, where she is waiting burial," the woman, now anxious to unburden herself, explained. But what need is there to set forth any more of such talk? The rest of the story tells itself. And we have had perhaps more than enough of the pseudo Mrs Ragg. Julia and I decided we had had enough also of Sea-Strand Cottage. We took up our abode temporarily at the Royal George. Our new-made friend--for after this adventure we could but look on him as a friend--had lived there for a month and could recommend it. It was in a busy thoroughfare of the town, houses on either side, at the back, over the way; men and women passing and repassing; plentiful gas-lamps, policemen within call. Ah, the blessed feeling of companionship and security! We had had enough of solitude, darkness, mystery, to last us for the rest of our lives. However, the cost of living at the Royal George was greatly more than the cost of living at the Cottage. "It is all very well for this man, who evidently has money to live in such a place," I said to Julia. "But we should quickly become bankrupt. At the end of a fortnight we will go." "Make it three weeks," Julia said, "and I shall be engaged to the man with the money." I scouted the idea, but stayed--perhaps to prove it impossible. Or perhaps at my age I knew well that to the young and the confident nothing is impossible. THE PRIVATE WARD He had been seized with sudden illness in the suburban hotel in which he was staying, and being unknown there, had been removed to the Princess Mary Cottage Hospital. The dozen beds of the men's ward were full, and he had been placed in the private ward. He lay now on the narrow bed, sleeping heavily, the white, bright light of the spring morning showing mercilessly the havoc selfishness and reckless self-indulgence had wrought upon a once sufficiently handsome face. The emaciation of his long form was plainly seen through the single scarlet blanket which covered it. The visiting doctor and the nurse stood, one on either side, looking down on him. "What sort of night?" asked the doctor.