"She does, Mrs. Bertram. He was a very genteel man--a cut above me, as I said before. He was fond of books, and but for me maybe he'd have got into trade in the book line. But I warned him off that shoal. I said to him, scores of times, 'Mark my words, William, dress will last, and books won't. People must be clothed, but they needn't read.' He was wise enough to stick to my words, and he made his fortune." "I suppose," said Mrs. Bertram, in a slow, meditative voice, "that a--um--merchant--in a small town like this, might, with care, realize, say, two or three thousand pounds." Mrs. Meadowsweet's eyes almost flashed. "Two or three thousand!" she said, "dearie me, dearie me. When people talk of fortunes, in Northbury, they _mean_ fortunes, Mrs. Bertram." "And your daughter will inherit?" asked the hostess of her guest. "There's full and plenty for me, Mrs. Bertram, and when Beatrice comes of age, or when she marries with her mother's approval, she'll have twenty thousand pounds. Twenty thousand invested in the funds, that's her fortune, not bad for a shopkeeper's daughter, is it, Mrs. Bertram?" Mrs. Bertram said that it was anything but bad, and she inwardly reflected on the best means of absolutely suppressing the memory of the shopkeeper, and how, by a little judicious training, she might induce Mrs. Meadowsweet to speak of her late partner as belonging to the roll of British merchants. CHAPTER XVII. THE WITCH WITH THE YELLOW HAIR. A corner is a very pretty addition to a room, and a cleft-stick has been known to present a more picturesque appearance than a straight one. But to find oneself, metaphorically speaking, pushed into the corner or wedged into the cleft of the stick is neither picturesque nor pleasant. This was Mrs. Bertram's present position. She had suddenly, and at a moment when she least expected it, been confronted with the ghost of a long ago past. The ghost of a past, so remote that she had almost forgotten it, had come back and stared her in the face. This ghost had assumed terrible dimensions, and the poor woman was dreadfully afraid of it. She had taken a hurried journey to London in the vain hope of laying it. Alas! it would not be laid. Most things, however, can be bought at a price, and Mrs. Bertram had bought the silence of this troublesome ghost of the past. She had bought it at a very heavy cost. Her money was in the hands of trustees; she dared not go to them to assist her, therefore, the only price she could pay was out of her yearly income.