Catharine held by the chair still trembling from head to foot. In all her trouble she had possessed one source of consolation and strength—deep faith in her husband’s love and integrity. Now her very heart seemed uprooted. For a moment, she had no faith in anything. She leaned heavily on the chair, grasping it with both hands, but her limbs trembled and gave way; she sunk slowly downward, and bowing her face, cried out in bitter anguish: “Oh, my God, what have I done that all Thy creatures turn against me? Let me die—let me die!” Madame De Marke turned away. At the head of her cot was a small hen-coop such as farmers use in transporting poultry to market. Through the bars of this coop, two or three lank, hungry fowls were protruding their long necks, and set up a low chuckle as if they joined the old woman in mocking at the poor girl. “Ha, ha! you understand it, dears,” said the crone; “here now, my pets, help yourselves.” She went to a platter that stood on her deal table, and dividing a cold potato with her fingers, thrust half of it through the bars. As the hungry fowls devoured it, she began quietly eating the other half, while she eyed the poor girl with a look of malicious cunning, apparently quite unmindful of the anguish that made her very heart quiver. At last Catharine lifted her head and looked steadily at the old woman. “Madam, if you have deceived me in this, if you know this of my husband.” She paused—the name almost suffocated her; goaded with fresh agony, she arose to her feet. “Woman, woman, as you have dealt with us, so will the God of heaven deal with you on your death-bed!” The next instant Catharine Lacy passed through the door, as one flees from an impending death-blow. Madame De Marke looked after her with a wild, fierce look; then she snatched up her crucifix and kissed it. “A heretic, a heretic—why should I mind the words of a heretic? What right has she to call on God?” But her grim features worked with fear long after she ceased speaking, and she repeatedly kissed the crucifix in her hand, as if striving to bribe protection from it. CHAPTER XXI. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. Scarcely half an hour had elapsed, when there was another knock at the door, and Jane Kelly, the hospital nurse, presented herself. “Oh, you have come at last!” exclaimed the old woman. “What news this time?” “I have come for the other ear-ring; it’s all right this time!” “Dead?” “Yes, dead, I gave him to my favorite nurse. The Irish woman wanted him dreadfully, and made a fuss at headquarters, but I proved that she lay in a dead sleep from drinking the very night before we sent her home, so my woman got the child and kept it to the last.” “And it is dead, ha?”