“I wonder who the devil that child is,” passed through Fred Bingham’s mind in that short instant. “I hate children. That fellow’s face had a sort of malicious grin on it. What can be up?” And then he advanced, with his usual pleasant smile, towards his uncle. “How are you, uncle? you are looking wonderfully well, and James, too, is——” And here he stopped abruptly, startled by the look of deadly hate and rage which sat on the cripple’s pale face. “James has been rather better lately,” Captain Bradshaw said. “He does not look well now, for he is a little excited; but he has got a new nurse, who suits him admirably, a most excellent young woman, and an old friend.” “I am very glad to hear it, uncle,” Fred stammered, seeing that some serious danger, the nature of which he could not comprehend, threatened him. “An old friend, did you say?” “Yes, Fred, an old friend. I daresay you would remember her name if I were to mention it.” “Indeed,” Fred said, the thought of all his possible enemies flashing through his mind. “What is it?” “I will answer,” a voice said; and, to the astonishment of the others, as well as that of Fred Bingham, a lady in black entered. “Carry Walker, Fred Bingham! Do you remember her?” Fred Bingham recoiled as from a heavy blow. “Carry,” he gasped, “alive!” “Yes, alive, Fred! You thought me dead, you thought the secret safe, and, secure in your own position, let the punishment fall upon another. Oh, it was a brave act, Fred; a brave act to deceive a trusting girl, who had no friends but an old father—a brave act to marry another and to leave her to die—a brave act to let the blame rest on your cousin, and to take his place, believing that I lay in my grave. But God spared my life, spared it that I might frustrate all your hopes and plans, and cast you down when you thought your success was certain. Fred Bingham,” she said, advancing a step towards him, and rising grandly above him in her indignation, as he shrank back from her, “I despise myself that I ever loved you—I loath myself that I ever listened to you; but at last, Fred, my wrongs are avenged—the helpless, friendless girl you deceived and deserted has her hour of triumph at last. Heartless, pitiless, mean, Fred Bingham, since I have known you as you are, I thank God daily for one thing—I thank Him that at least I am spared the misery, the degradation, of being the wife of such a creature. And now, good-bye, Fred Bingham. I never thought to see you again. I once trembled at the thought of meeting you, now I feel only contempt. We have met twice, Fred Bingham; the first time you had your victory—now I have mine. I pray God we may never meet again.”