About seven o’clock they heard Lally come forth from Mrs. Wroat’s chamber and go up to her room. The young governess had slept with her aged kinswoman, and now, by Mrs. Wroat’s command, was about to pack her few effects in her box, ready for departure. Mr. and Mrs. Blight followed Lally to her room, and entered, without knocking. The girl was busy, folding her garments, and her round gipsy face was all aglow, her black eyes had in them a look of hopefulness of late a stranger to them, and she was altogether changed from the piteously sorrowful young creature of the day before. Even the love of her eccentric kinswoman had served to kindle the spark of new hopes and new interests in Lally’s lonely life. She regarded her visitors with something of surprise, but received them courteously. “Good-morning, madam; good-morning, sir,” she said, bowing. “Will you be seated?” “Viper! Ingrate!” cried Mrs. Blight theatrically, but with genuine anger. “I warmed you in my bosom, as it were; I fed you at my table; I paid you at the rate of twenty pounds a year; and this is the way you reward me! Serpent! Base serpent!” “I don’t understand you, madam. What is it I have done?” “Hear her!” cried Mrs. Blight, her hands uplifted, apostrophizing the ceiling. “She asks what she has done!” and the lady’s tones grew hysterical. “She has taken the bread from my children’s mouths! She has made me a beggar! She has traduced us and lied about us, and now asks us what she has done!” “Madam,” said Lally, her black eyes flashing, “I have not traduced you, nor lied about you.” “You have repeated to Mrs. Wroat my unguarded remarks about her, made to you in confidence.” “Again you are mistaken, madam,” said Lally sternly. “I have not repeated those remarks. Mrs. Wroat judged you by words she herself overheard. I have done nothing to injure you, nor is it my fault that my great-aunt has chosen to exalt me at your expense. Believe me, Mrs. Blight, if my aunt had not found me, she would not have left her money to you.” “Your aunt?” cried the lawyer. “Seems to me you are getting along fast, young woman. Your aunt, eh? It is my opinion that you are a clever adventuress, and I deem it my duty to protect my dear aunt from your evil machinations. Put your things into that trunk. Laura, ring the hall bell for Buttons.” Mrs. Blight complied. Buttons made his appearance. “Take that trunk down to the street, and call a cab,” commanded Mr. Blight. The trunk being locked with a spring catch, Buttons shouldered it and vanished down the stairs. “Now, Miss,” said the lawyer, with vindictive triumph, “you must be off. You cannot be allowed to speak again to the infirm old lady you have persecuted. March down the stairs quietly, or I’ll call a policeman and accuse you of stealing.” “Mr. Blight--” “Not a word, Miss. On with your bonnet and shawl, and depart. One word to arouse Mrs. Wroat, and I’ll have you dragged off to jail.”