“But I did have the gold, and it's been stolen,” persisted Aunt Lucy, whose disappointment was the greater because she intended the money for Paul. “Again!” exclaimed Mrs. Mudge. “Will you never have done with this folly? Even if you did have the gold, which I don't for an instant believe, you couldn't keep it. A pauper has no right to hold property.” “Then why did the one who stole the little I had leave me this?” said the old lady, scornfully, holding up the cent which had been substituted for the gold. “How should I know?” exclaimed Mrs. Mudge, wrathfully. “You talk as if you thought I had taken your trumpery money.” “So you did!” chimed in an unexpected voice, which made Mrs. Mudge start nervously. It was the young woman already mentioned, who was bereft of reason, but who at times, as often happens in such cases, seemed gifted with preternatural acuteness. “So you did. I saw you, I did; I saw you creep up when you thought nobody was looking, and search her pocket. You opened that paper and took out the bright yellow piece, and put in another. You didn't think I was looking at you, ha! ha! How I laughed as I stood behind the door and saw you tremble for fear some one would catch you thieving. You didn't think of me, dear, did you?” And the wild creature burst into an unmeaning laugh. Mrs. Mudge stood for a moment mute, overwhelmed by this sudden revelation. But for the darkness, Aunt Lucy could have seen the sudden flush which overspread her face with the crimson hue of detected guilt. But this was only for a moment. It was quickly succeeded by a feeling of intense anger towards the unhappy creature who had been the means of exposing her. “I'll teach you to slander your betters, you crazy fool,” she exclaimed, in a voice almost inarticulate with passion, as she seized her rudely by the arm, and dragged her violently from the room. She returned immediately. “I suppose,” said she, abruptly, confronting Aunt Lucy, “that you are fool enough to believe her ravings?” “I bring no accusation,” said the old lady, calmly, “If your conscience acquits you, it is not for me to accuse you.” “But what do you think?” persisted Mrs. Mudge, whose consciousness of guilt did not leave her quite at ease. “I cannot read the heart,” said Aunt Lucy, composedly. “I can only say, that, pauper as I am, I would not exchange places with the one who has done this deed.” “Do you mean me?” demanded Mrs. Mudge. “You can tell best.” “I tell you what, Aunt Lucy Lee,” said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes blazing with anger, “If you dare insinuate to any living soul that I stole your paltry money, which I don't believe you ever had, I will be bitterly revenged upon you.” She flaunted out of the room, and Aunt Lucy, the first bitterness of her disappointment over, retired to bed, and slept more tranquilly than the unscrupulous woman who had robbed her.