"Exactly. A fellow-conspirator in a plot," said Mrs. Stothard calmly--"I use the words advisedly--and yet only tell me a portion of your intentions." "Will you be good enough to explain yourself, Mrs. Stothard?" said Mrs. Derinzy, seating herself, and thereby asserting her superiority in the only way possible over her servant, who knew so much, and was apparently inclined to make a dangerous use of her knowledge. "Certainly," said Mrs. Stothard. "I am the only person in this place, besides you and your husband, who knows that your niece Annette Derinzy is subject to fits of lunacy. I say who _knows_ it; it may be suspected more or less, though I don't think it is much. But I know it. The fact is kept sedulously by you from all who are likely to be brought in contact save the one physician who attends, and his visits are accounted for by a pretext that you, and not Annette, are his patient. If that is not a plot in which we are fellow-conspirators, I should like to know what is." "Go on," said Mrs. Derinzy, in a low voice. "I am going on," said Mrs. Stothard, pitilessly. "The reason for your concealing the fact that this girl is an occasional lunatic is, that she is the heiress of a very large fortune, and that since the day on which you first heard of her inheritance you determined that she should marry your only son. For my discovery of this portion of the plot, I am not indebted to you. It was the work entirely of my own observation. You can say whether I am right in my conjecture or not." "Suppose you are, what then?" "Suppose I am! What is the use of beating about the bush in this absurd way any longer? You know I am right. Now that you see the difficulty of blinding your son any longer to his cousin's condition, and that he is not weak enough to have been played upon to any extent, had it not been for the influence which this newly-arrived friend has over him, you find that you require my aid, and want my advice." Perhaps for the first time in her long scheming anxious life, Mrs. Derinzy felt herself thoroughly prostrate. She hid her face in her hands, and when she raised it, tears were streaming down her cheeks. She made no further attempt at concealment of her feelings, but murmured piteously, "What are we to do Martha--what are we to do?" Mrs. Stothard's hard face softened for a moment as she stepped towards her, and touched her gently with her hand. "What are you to do!" she cried. "Not to give way like this, and throw up all chance of winning the battle after so long and desperate a fight. Let us think it over quietly, see exactly how matters stand, and determine what can be done for the best." "He must never know it, Martha--he must never know it!" murmured Mrs. Derinzy. "Who must never know what?" asked Mrs. Stothard, shortly.