“To-day, when she came with a bird dripping with gravy in her jaws, I tried to coax her up to the bed; but no, there she stood leering at me with her round, glaring eye, and munched the bird up bones and all before my face. I tried to get at her, but the room turned black as midnight, and though I could hear her crunching and growling under the bed, it was of no use pleading. Look at her there, Jane Kelly, the viper that I warmed in my bosom, and if you wish to fight anything, try her, she deserves it. But I,—just come to the bed, my friend, take my hand, there’s nothing but kindness in me. I’m full of friendship for you. Sickness and trouble have changed me, Jane, and if I did you any harm, it has been repented of long and long ago.” Jane scarcely seemed to heed all this, save that she went up to the hearth and gave Peg, the cat, a vigorous kick with one of the heavy prison-shoes that still encased her feet. This injunction to punish the cat seemed to be the only portion of the old woman’s speech that impressed her enough for action. Though it was very evident that the miserable old creature was absolutely suffering from starvation, Jane seemed in no hurry to relieve the discomforts of her position, but seated herself in one of the dilapidated chairs, and took a well-satisfied survey of the room, till her fierce gaze at last encountered the keen, black eyes of her enemy glancing upon her from the bed. “So you have suffered a good deal?” she said, abruptly. “A great deal. You would be sorry for me, Jane, if you knew how much.” “I’m not sure about that. Hungry sometimes, eh?” “I’m hungry now!” answered the sick woman, while tears dropped like single hail-stones from her eyes; “I’m very hungry, Jane Kelly.” “And thirsty?” “My mouth is parched for want of a drop of water!” “And weak?” “So weak that it troubles me to move a finger, except when I’m angry. Peg gave me a moment’s strength, and your coming kept it up—but now I am helpless.” “Yet you are rich?” “Oh, yes, very rich; rolling in gold—rolling in gold!” cried the old woman, with a fresh gleam of the eyes. “And where is this gold? I want my share of it.” “Your share, oh, ha! you’re joking now, my beautiful friend. Of course, one never keeps money in a place like this! Safe in the bank, mortgages, railroad stock, bonds.” “And jewels perhaps—old-fashioned diamond ear-rings, mated this time,” said Jane Kelly, glancing under the bed, at which Madame De Marke grew more livid than sickness had left her, and began to writhe upon her pillow as if seized with a sudden paroxysm of pain. “No, no,” the invalid almost shrieked, “the judge kept them both. I never could get those ear-rings back from his clutches. They were to be kept for you, he insisted, when you came out of prison. I only wish we had them here, and they should sparkle in those pretty ears before you could find time to ask for them.”