"George, you triflin' rascal, come heah. I got things started, son. Listen! Watch me! You don't desarbe it, but watch me. Tell Mr. Bankner dat Tesney says dat he is her father. Go! You good as got Tesney now. Go!" As George went out the door, Agnes added: "Dat's er triflin' rascal, but he's my George." Agnes began to grind the coffee, but stopped to abuse the cook. George contrived to have the message of Agnes reach Mr. Bankner's ears. Agnes, in turn, told Tesney that the rich white man knew of her suspicion. Tesney looked at the ring, and said: "I am Tesney the deceived." A few months after this Mr. Bankner sent his wife and children to Europe, and came to board with Mrs. Wakely. Tesney, knowing that George had had his mother's message delivered, feared the result. She worried until she was a mere skeleton of her former self. "I cannot face my blunder," she said. "I must leave." She accordingly rented a room and lived alone. In a short time she took to her bed as the result of isolation and worry. When Agnes heard of Tesney's illness she said: "Dis is our chance, son." Her three hundred and fifty pounds were soon at Tesney's bedside. Tesney was flighty. George and the preacher came. George held her hand while the preacher asked questions. George answered for himself, and Agnes answered for Tesney. A week passed. Tesney arose from her pillow and said to Agnes: "Are you here?" "Yes, chile," answered Agnes; "an' George, yo' husban', is heah, too." "George, my husband!" ejaculated Tesney. "Yes, child," said the preacher, who happened to be present, "I married you to him a week ago." Tesney swooned, and fell back upon her pillow. When next conscious of her surroundings, Tesney found herself in bed in a log cabin, with her three-hundred-and-fifty-pound tormentor still at her side. From that time until her death she was a prisoner. Not more than a dozen times did she seem sane. She would stand before the glass and ask for her old self. Sometimes she called Agnes a girl. Then she would call her a woman. "Agnes," said she, on one occasion, "here is a rope. Let us skip." When Tesney's baby boy was between three and four weeks old George was killed in a drunken brawl. Two days afterward he was buried, a short distance from the house. Tesney was in bed. Agnes did not go to the grave. She dragged her three hundred and fifty pounds out doors to cool, cry, and repent. Tesney took a looking-glass from under her pillow and looked at herself. "Tesney has come back again," she said. "This is her face. This is her hair. Tesney has come back again." Then turning to the wasting child at her side, she said: "Don't cry, little rascal. You are a George, like your father. Little fool, don't cry. Night will soon come. You may go then. Cry, cry, little George! Stop! Stop!"