"That is her affair and yours. You are not in mine. I discharge you. Your next month's wages will be paid, after which you will not receive another shilling from me." "Upon what grounds am I discharged, monsieur?" "You are not discharged, Annette," exclaimed Barbara. "I know, madame. I take it only from you. I asked monsieur a question." "Upon the grounds of treachery and unfaithfulness," I said, calmly. "You hear," she said, appealing to the others. "It is slander. You are witnesses. It is not the first time--no, it is not the first time." "Our law courts are open to you," I said. "Try them, and see what an English judge will say to you." "Madame is perhaps right," she remarked, with a sly glance at the decanter of brandy on the table. "Monsieur is not in his senses." Her voice was as smooth as if she were paying me compliments, and her manner was entirely unruffled. At this point Barbara started up in a fit of passion. "You monster!" she screamed, and would have thrown herself upon me had not Maxwell held her back. "Hold hard, Barbara," he said. "Let us see the end of it. Don't spoil the drama. It is really a very good drama, John." I went up to my bedroom, and rapidly packing my bag, called to the porter to take it to the cab. Then I re-entered the parlor. "One last word," I said to Barbara. "In the presence of your friends I take my leave of you. This house will be sold soon, and you will have to reside elsewhere. My solicitor will write to you presently, and will make you acquainted with the arrangements I have decided upon. It is my fervent hope that we shall never meet again." "By God, he is in earnest!" cried Maxwell. As I left the room I saw Barbara staring at me with parted lips, and Maxwell, my stepmother, and Louis looking blankly at each other. Annette was smiling quietly, and playing with her cap strings. CHAPTER XIX. On the following day I received a letter from Miss Cameron. They were very comfortable, the place was beautiful, the air delightful, her mother seemed to be better already. She signed herself Ellen Cameron, and hereafter I thought of her only as Ellen. It was not such a letter as an ordinary needlewoman would have written. The writing was that of a lady, and the wording appropriate and well-chosen. The signs of fair culture in it were very pleasing to me. I did not reply to it immediately, thinking it unbecoming to show haste. In a day or two I wrote, expressing satisfaction at the report, and bidding her take advantage of every hour of fine weather. Acting upon the doctor's suggestion, I dispatched a hamper of fruit, wine, and jelly, and continued to do so at regular intervals. Ellen's thanks for these gifts were extravagant, and rather humiliated me. If thanks were due to either of us, it was she who should have been the recipient.