Boyce also gazed anxiously around; a deadly whiteness crept over his face, as he looked for some other door by which he might hope to escape. None presented itself. Rendered desperate by fear, he hurried toward the woman, and attempted to pass her, forcing a ghastly smile to his lips, calling her by name, and saying, with airy lightness, that he wished to speak with her. The woman turned upon him fiercely. He saw that her eyes were heavy with weeping, and her whole face flushed with angry grief. Every nerve in his body quivered; the breath stopped in his throat. He could not have maintained that jaunty air a moment longer. “Come along! I have lots to say to you!” “Say it to him!” answered the woman, pointing toward the policeman. “He will go with you, I dare say. I have got business in here.” “Business! You? What? What business?” “Come back, and you’ll hear. At any rate, I’m not afraid of you going far. Make sure that you’ll be wanted!” “What do you mean, woman? Are you going back on your own husband?” gasped the frightened wretch, in a hoarse whisper. “Are you, Mary?” “Not yet,” answered the woman. “But no wonder you think so, for I’m going to do a queer thing for once!” “What? What is that?” “I’m going to speak the truth, and shame—Well, no matter.” “Mary!” “Yes! That’s my name. Mary Boyce. Tell Mr. Mahone that the old name is good enough for me and my baby; but then we don’t wear French caps and pink streamers, and no young lady is yearning to give me five thousand dollars for disgracing innocent people! Such things don’t often come in the way of a poor woman, who goes out to day’s washing to support herself and her child, besides handing over her hard earnings to the man who wants to leave her.” “Mary! Mary! Listen to me! You are mistaken! Some wicked person has been telling you lies!” Boyce caught his sister-in-law by the arm, driven frantic by her words. She tore herself from his hold, and hurrying up to the judge, broke in upon him. “Sir! Yer honor! I know all about this case! That young man standing there is Jared Boyce, my husband’s brother. Swear me, please. Let me tell the story with my hand on the Bible.” “Let her be sworn,” said the judge; and the woman who had been engaged for extra help in Mrs. Lambert’s laundry laid her hand on the Bible and kissed it reverently. “Now,” said the magistrate, “what is it you wish me to hear?” The woman answered promptly and under considerable excitement.