Miss Post was holding up the wreath from which a cloud of tulle floated to the floor, and did not answer for half a minute, but she spoke at last. “Sure, Miss Spicer, of course I am. The young man, Boyce, came round and told us the minute it was done. They first took up the boy, then walked the old woman off between two policemen. Boyce waited to see it done, then come to inform Mr. Mahone, who is anxious beyond anything, knowing that our wedding depends on their being safely locked in prison.” “Your wedding, Ellen, pray what has that to do with it?” questioned Miss Spicer, who was not entirely informed of the wheels within wheels which revolved in the kitchen department. “Just as much as the five thousand dollars that you are to pay over for clearing these people out of the madam’s path.” “Oh, you depend on that; but it will take some time before they can be safely disposed of, Ellen.” “They are in prison this minute; by to-morrow, at farthest, they will be remanded—that is the word Mr. Mahone calls it—back for trial. That ought to be disgrace enough for one family, Miss Spicer.” “But this money was to be paid on conviction, Ellen, you must remember that.” “No, I do not,” answered the waiting maid, casting aside her veil and entering into the subject with spirit, “and if you take it so, it isn’t too late to draw back. The young man Boyce has only to clear out of the city, and they’ll have to be acquitted. Everything depends on him.” Miss Spicer changed color and gave the fragments of silks and laces around her a spiteful toss to the floor. Her love of money was almost as warm as her attachment for young Lambert, or her dislike of Eva Laurence. She had, in fact, promised this large sum of money with a reserved hope of evading the payment after her vengeance was secured. But Ellen Post was not exactly the person to be so dealt with. She had no abiding faith in the honor of her confederate, and was resolved that the trust should not be all on one side. Another reason, still more urgent, gave her courage to be firm. Ellen had met with disappointments in her life, and she was in haste to secure herself from a mournful repetition of them by wearing the snow-white robe at the earliest possible moment. Before she could do that, the money which Miss Spicer had promised must be forthcoming. Mahone had expressed himself very decidedly on that point. “It seems to me,” said Miss Spicer, “that you and your friends are going off from the terms of our agreement, Ellen.” “Not at all,” answered the bride. “Mr. Mahone is the very soul of honor. At first he declined to act without the money in hand, but a word from me was enough to persuade him into waiting till these persons were in prison. Then,” says he, “dearly as I love you, Ellen, superior as you are to all other women, I must be firm; for your own dear sake. I should be prepared to support you like the lady you are. For this reason I must have the money down.”