“You have all mistaken me,” said she, with bitter hostility; “you have imagined that you had to deal with some silly child. But this shall do none of you any good. You may kill me among you, but I am not afraid to die. Death itself will be welcome rather than submission to that foul miscreant, that vulgar coward, who takes advantage of a contemptible trick, and pretends that there was a marriage. I say this to you--that I defy him and all of you, and will defy you all--yes, to the bitter end; and you may go and tell this to your wretched confederates.” As Edith said this, Mrs. Dunbar looked at her; and if there could have appeared upon that face the signs of a wounded heart--a heart cut and stung to its inmost fibre--the face that confronted Edith showed all this at that moment. “Confederates!” she repeated. “Yes, you and Wiggins and this villain who, you say, is now living here.” “What, Leon!” “Leon! Is that his name! Leon Dudleigh! Well, whatever name he chooses to bear, it is all the same; though it seems strange that he should adopt a stainless name like that of Dudleigh.” “Yes, that is his name,” said Mrs. Dunbar, wearily. “Till he assumes some other,” said Edith. “But they are all assumed names,” she continued, bitterly--“Mowbray and Dudleigh and Dunbar also, no doubt. Why you should call yourself Dunbar I can't imagine. You seem to me to be Mrs. Wiggins. Wiggins at least can not be an assumed name.” At these words, which were spoken on the spur of the moment, out of mere hostility toward Mrs. Dunbar, and the desire to wound her, the latter recoiled as though from some sudden blow, and looked at Edith with awful eyes. “You are terrible,” she said, in a low voice--“you are terrible. You can not imagine what horrors you give expression to.” To this Edith paid no attention. It sounded old. It was like what Wiggins had frequently said to her. “I can not imagine,” she continued, “any human being so utterly bad-hearted, so altogether vile and corrupt, as this man who now calls himself Leon Dudleigh. In pure fiendish malignity, and in all those qualities which are abhorrent and shameful, he surpasses even, that arch-villain Wiggins himself.” “Stop, stop!” cried Mrs. Dunbar. “I can not bear this. You must not talk so. How do you know! You know nothing about Leon. Oh, how you wrong him! Leon has had bad associates, but he himself is not bad. After all, Leon has naturally a noble heart. He was a brave, high-minded boy. Oh, if you could but know what he once was. You wrong Leon. You wrong him most deeply. Oh, how deeply you wrong him!” Mrs. Dunbar had said all this in a kind of feverish agitation, speaking quickly and vehemently. Never before had Edith seen any thing approaching to excitement in this strong-hearted, vigilant-eyed, self-contained woman, and the sight of such emotion amazed her. But for this woman and her feelings she cared nothing whatever; and so in the midst of her words she waved her hand and interrupted her.