"Yuss, she did," admitted Deborah, "me lettin' her in not knowin' her scratchin's. An' the monkey an' the kitting come too--a-spyin' out the land as you may say. W'en I 'eard the noos I 'owled Mr. Paul, but my pretty she turned white like one of them plaster stateys as boys sell cheap in the streets, and ses she, she ses, 'Oh Paul'--if you'll forgive me mentioning your name, sir, without perliteness." "Bless her, my darling. Did she think of me," said Beecot, tenderly. "Ah, when do she not think of you, sir? 'Eart of gold, though none in her pocket by means of that Old Bailey woman as is a good match fur my Old Bailey master. Ho! he wos a bad 'un, and 'ow Miss Sylvia ever come to 'ave sich a par beats me. But I thank 'eaven the cat ain't my pretty's mar, though she do 'ave a daughter of her own, the painted, stuck-up parcel of bad bargains." Paul nodded. "Calling names won't do any good, Deborah," he said sadly; "we must do the best we can." "There ain't no chance of the lawr gettin' that woman to the gallers I 'spose, sir?" "The woman is your late master's lawful wife. Pash seems to think so and has gone over to the enemy"--here Deborah clenched her mighty fists and gasped. "Sylvia's mother was married later, and as the former wife is alive Sylvia is--" "No," shouted Deborah, flinging out her hand, "don't say it." "Sylvia is poor," ended Paul, calmly. "What did you think I was about to say, Deborah?" "What that cat said, insulting of my pretty. But I shoved her out of the door, tellin' her what she were. She guv me and Bart and my own sunbeam notice to quit," gasped Deborah, almost weeping, "an' quit we will this very day, Bart bein' a-packin' at this momingt. 'Ear 'im knocking, and I wish he wos a-knockin' at Mrs. Krill's 'ead, that I do, the flauntin' hussy as she is, drat her." "I'll go up and see Sylvia. No, Deborah, don't you come for a few minutes. When you do come we'll arrange what is to be done." Deborah nodded acquiescence. "Take my lovely flower in your arms, sir," she said, following him to the foot of the stairs, "and tell her as your 'eart is true, which true I knowed it would be." Beecot was soon in the sitting-room and found Sylvia on the sofa, her face buried in her hands. She looked up when she recognized the beloved footsteps and sprang to her feet. The next moment she was sobbing her heart out on Paul's faithful breast, and he was comforting her with all the endearing names he could think of. "My own, my sweet, my dearest darling," whispered Paul, smoothing the pretty brown hair, "don't weep. You have lost much, but you have me." "Dear," she wept, "do you think it is true?" "I am afraid it is, Sylvia. However, I know a young lawyer, who is a friend of mine, and I'll speak to him." "But Paul, though my mother may not have been married to my father--" "She _was_, Sylvia, but Mrs. Krill was married to him earlier. Your father committed bigamy, and you, poor child, have to pay the penalty."