"For the love of Heaven!" Mrs. Riley moaned. "Send ’em away, send ’em away, tell ’em to leave me be!" Madam Grant’s eyes brightened a little, and her color returned. "Come in the room and I will see what I can do for you." The three entered, Mrs. Riley, half terrified but curious, darting her eyes about the apartment, sniffing at the foul odor, her furtive glances returning ever to the mad woman. Francis went to the bookcase and resumed his reading without manifesting further interest in the visitor. Madam Grant seated herself upon a wooden box covered with sacking and untied the strings of her hat. "What do you want to know?" she asked sharply. "I got three tickets in the lottery, and I want to know which one to keep," Mrs. Riley ventured, somewhat shamefaced. Madam Grant gave a fierce gesture, and the line between her brows grew deeper. "I’ll answer such questions for nobody! That’s the devil’s work, not mine. How did your three husbands die, Margaret Riley?" The woman held up her hands in protest. "Two, only two!" she cried; "and they died in their beds regular enough. God knows I wore my fingers out for ’em, too!" "They died suddenly," Madam Grant replied impassively. "Who’s the other one with the smooth face—the one who limps?" Mrs. Riley coughed into her hands nervously. "It might be my brother." "It is not your brother. You know who it is, Mrs. Riley; and he tells me that you must give back the papers." "Oh, I’ll give ’em back; I was always meanin’ to give ’em back, God knows I was! I’ll do it this week." "In a week it will be too late." "I’ll do it to-morrow." "You’ll do it to-day, Mrs. Riley." "I will, oh, I will!" "Now, if you want a sitting, I’ll give you one," Madam Grant continued. "That is, if I can get Weenie. I can’t promise anything. She comes and she goes like the sun in spring." "Never mind," said Mrs. Riley, rising abruptly. "I think I’ll be going, after all." She started toward the door. The clairvoyant’s face had set again in a vacant, far-away expression and her voice fell to the same dead tone she had used before. She clutched her throat suddenly. "He’s in the water—he’s drowning—he’s passing out now—he’s gone! You are responsible, you! you! You drove him to it with your false tongue and your crafty hands. But you’ll regret it. You’ll pay for it in misery and pain, Margaret Riley. Your old age will be miserable. You’ll escape shame to suffer torment!" Mrs. Riley’s face, haggard and terrified, was working convulsively. Without taking her eyes from the medium, she ran into the front room and shook the boy’s shoulder. "Wake her up, Frankie, I don’t want no more of this! Wake her up, dear, and let me go!" Francis arose lazily and walked over to Madam Grant. He put his arm tenderly about her and whispered in her ear. "Come back, Mamsy dear! Come back, Mamsy, I want you!" He began stroking her hands firmly.