“Put them where they came from,” replied Mrs. Wood, severely, “and go to bed.” “But, mother, mayn't I sit up to see whether Thames returns?” implored Winifred. “What can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child,” rejoined Mrs. Wood, sharply. “I've spoken. And my word's law--with _you_, at least,” she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. Mrs. Sheppard, who witnessed this occurrence with dismay, looked timorously at Wood, in expectation of some hint being given as to the course she had better pursue; but, receiving none, for the carpenter was too much agitated to attend to her, she ventured to express a fear that she was intruding. “Intruding!” echoed Mrs. Wood; “to be sure you are! I wonder how you dare show your face in this house, hussy!” “I thought you sent for me, Ma'am,” replied the widow, humbly. “So I did,” retorted Mrs. Wood; “and I did so to see how far your effrontery would carry you.” “I'm sure I'm very sorry. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?” said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. “Don't exchange glances with him under my very nose, woman!” shrieked Mrs. Wood; “I'll not bear it. Look at me, and answer me one question. And, mind! no prevaricating--nothing but the truth will satisfy me.” Mrs. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. “Are you not that man's mistress?” demanded Mrs. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. “I am no man's mistress,” answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. “That's false!” cried Mrs. Wood. “I'm too well acquainted with your proceedings, Madam, to believe that. Profligate women are never reclaimed. _He_ has told me sufficient of you--” “My dear,” interposed Wood, “for goodness' sake--” “I _will_ speak,” screamed his wife, totally disregarding the interruption; “I _will_ tell this worthless creature what I know about her,--and what I think of her.” “Not now, my love--not now,” entreated Wood. “Yes, _now_,” rejoined the infuriated dame; “perhaps, I may never have another opportunity. She has contrived to keep out of my sight up to this time, and I've no doubt she'll keep out of it altogether for the future.” “That was my doing, dearest,” urged the carpenter; “I was afraid if you saw her that some such scene as this might occur.” “Hear me, Madam, I beseech you,” interposed Mrs. Sheppard, “and, if it please you to visit your indignation on any one let it be upon me, and not on your excellent husband, whose only fault is in having bestowed his charity upon so unworthy an object as myself.” “Unworthy, indeed!” sneered Mrs. Wood. “To him I owe everything,” continued the widow, “life itself--nay, more than life,--for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. He has been a father to me and my child.”