“Your rights?” questioned Michael sadly. Poor child! _Had_ she any rights in the universe that he could help her to get? The only rights he knew for such as she were room in a quiet graveyard and a chance to be forgotten. “Say, ain’t it against the law fer a man to marry a woman when he’s already got one wife?” “It is,” said Michael, “unless he gets a divorce.” “Well, I ain’t goin’ to give him no divorce, you bet!” said the girl fiercely. “I worked hard enough to get a real marriage an’ I ain’t goin’ to give up to no fash’nable swell. I’m’s good’s she is, an’ I’ve got my rights an I’ll hev ’em. An’ besides, there’s baby—!” Her face softened and took on a love light; and immediately Michael was reminded of the madonna picture again. “I’ve got to think o’ him!” Michael marvelled to see that the girl was revelling in her possession, of the little helpless burden who had been the cause of her sorrow. “Tell me about it.” His voice was very gentle. He recalled suddenly that this was Sam’s girl. Poor Sam, too! The world was a terribly tangled mess of trouble. “Well, there ain’t much to tell that counts, only he kep’ comp’ny with me, an’ I wouldn’t hev ennythin’ else but a real marriage, an’ so he giv in, an’ we hed a couple o’ rooms in a real respectable house an’ hed it fine till he had to go away on business, he said. I never b’leeved that. Why he was downright rich. He’s a real swell, you know. What kind o’ business cud he have?” Lizzie straightened herself proudly and held her head high. “About whom are you talking?” asked Michael. “Why, my husband, ’course, Mr. Sty-ve-zant Carter. You ken see his name in the paper real often. He didn’t want me to know his real name. He hed me call him Dan Hunt fer two months, but I caught on, an’ he was real mad fer a while. He said his ma didn’t like the match, an’ he didn’t want folks to know he’d got married, it might hurt him with some of his swell friends—” “You don’t mean to tell me that Mr. Stuyvesant Carter ever really married you!” said Michael incredulously. “Sure!” said Lizzie proudly, “married me jest like enny swell; got me a dimon ring an’ a silk lined suit an’ a willer plume an everythin’.” Lizzie held up a grimy hand on which Michael saw a showy glitter of jewelry. “Have you anything to show for it?” asked Michael, expecting her of course to say no. “Have you any certificate or paper to prove that you were married according to law?” “Sure!” said Lizzie triumphantly, drawing forth a crumpled roll from the folds of her dress and smoothing it out before his astonished eyes.