“And you killed her, you devil!” interrupted Mrs. Finley. She lifted her arm, shrieking hoarsely: “Go, go--with a mother’s curse on your wicked head! You are no longer a child of mine.” But Mr. Finley exclaimed sharply: “Hush your clatter, you parcel of fools! Perhaps she is not dead, after all. Doctor Hewitt will be back in a moment. Willie, go to your room, and stay there until I come to you!” Trained to habits of the strictest obedience to his harsh stepfather, Willie mechanically obeyed, and then Mr. Finley turned to his wife and said sharply: “I shall tell Hewitt that this is a case of suicide, and don’t either of you dare contradict me!” At that moment Doctor Hewitt appeared upon the doorstep, returning from his fool’s errand, and Mr. Finley hurriedly drew him in, and shut the door, turning the key in the lock. Strangely enough, no one had been attracted to the scene by the sound of the pistol shot, and he felt safe to carry out the deception. “Doctor, here is a new case for you!” he exclaimed, and, turning up the gas, the dreadful scene was revealed in all its horror and pathos. Doctor Hewitt had been physician to Arnell & Grey for many years, and, in the beautiful girl lying unconscious in a pool of blood on the floor, he instantly recognized the little factory girl who had come to harm years ago and then disappeared so mysteriously as to leave abroad the impression that she had drowned herself. “Pansy Laurens!” he exclaimed, in a shocked tone, and Mr. Finley replied: “Yes, it is poor Pansy. Is it not dreadful to think that, after staying away all these years, she should return to commit suicide in her mother’s house?” “Suicide?” echoed Doctor Hewitt. “Yes; we all heard a shot, and, rushing into the hall, found Pansy lying like this, and this pistol on the floor, where it had dropped from her hand,” exhibiting the pistol Willie had thrown down. Doctor Hewitt was on his knees by Pansy’s side, examining her wound, and in a few minutes he looked up, and said, in a tone of relief: “She has not succeeded in her awful design. The bullet only went through her shoulder, and she is not likely to die from that.” “Thank Heaven!” cried Mrs. Finley gladly, and her wicked husband could not help slightly echoing her words, for he was beginning to feel like a murderer, remembering how he kept at white heat, by his taunts and sneers, the fire of murderous rage in Willie Laurens’ heart. “She must be put to bed at once, and her wound dressed,” said the physician; and they carried her upstairs to her own room, where she had spent such unhappy hours four years ago. Then Mr. Finley said: “Doctor Hewitt, I would be glad to keep this whole miserable affair, even Pansy’s presence in this house, a secret, for the sake of her innocent young sisters. Will you help me to do it?” “Yes,” Doctor Hewitt replied, and then he sent Mr. Finley down to see after the patient who had been forgotten for the moment in the horror of this new calamity.