Jane drew close to Mrs. Judson and said this in a voice so depressed, that Ellen could not gather its meaning. But Mrs. Judson understood her at once. The color left her face, she cast a sharp glance at Ellen and bade her go down-stairs and see that all the blinds were closed, then moving toward one of the chamber-doors, she opened it and made a gesture that Jane should follow. The girl obeyed and closed the door after her, while Mrs. Judson seated herself stiffly, as if she had been in a church. “You can sit down,” she said, with unusual condescension. Jane did not heed the invitation, but drew close to Mrs. Judson and took the velvet-bound volume from under her shawl. “Does this belong to you, madam?” Mrs. Judson restrained an impulse to snatch the book, and reached forth her hand steadily. She examined the clasp, the title-page, and the words in her own writing before she looked up or spoke. At last she laid the book in her lap, and lifted her eyes to the girl. “Where did you get this?” “That is my affair, lady. How much is it worth to the young lady’s friends, is the question just now.” “That is, you wish to sell it,” said Mrs. Judson. “Yes, to some one. It must be of value, and I want two things.” “What are the things you want?” “Money, and a first-rate place—lady’s maid would suit me if I could find a lady to be proud of.” “You seem to value this book highly.” “Yes I do—very highly, and to my thinking the price will be growing higher and higher every minute.” “Yet its first cost could not have been more than thirty dollars.” “You know that better than I can. It wasn’t the first cost or anything like it, I was thinking of.” “What then, pray?” There was a tremor in the proud woman’s voice, spite of the effort she made to control it, and Jane Kelly saw with a throb of pleasure that she grew pale and sat less uprightly in her chair. “It isn’t the book I’m selling, but what I know of the young lady who owned it. She was a relation of yours.” “No she was not!” “A connection then. You had charge of her.” “Well!” “You want to know all about her, and being proud as Lucifer—as an angel, I mean, won’t ask. I know it isn’t because you begrudge the money—all is, you won’t even yourself with me and talk the thing over sociably.” “Sociably! girl, you forget yourself.” “No I don’t; it’s you that won’t forget yourself. This minute you are dying to ask all I know, and that proud heart won’t allow you to say the word. Give back the book. The reporters who were so anxious to find out her history will be glad to get it.” “Reporters—reporters,” faltered Mrs. Judson, aghast with apprehension. “What does this mean? What has that wretched girl done? tell me everything you know. You are right, it is not money that I consider. Tell me.” “Well, how much are you ready to hand over for the book,—remember, only for the book, the rest I throw in.” “Set your own price; I cannot discuss that with you.”