“What combination could have induced this gambler, Ward, to hire a room and become an inmate in this squalid house?” “And is this so?” “The woman herself showed me his chamber—a miserable, shabby room, for which he had paid the rent in advance, she stated.” “Great heavens! this is terrible! Woman, woman, I charge you, tell me the truth! Is there no mistake in this?” His lips quivered, his eyes were bright with pain. “Go to the woman yourself if you doubt me,” was the answer. “Then say if I am not right in forbidding our Georgiana ever to enter that place again. She may be obstinate enough to insist; but I shall have done my duty.” Miss Eliza folded her hands over each other, and rubbed them gently as she spoke. Savage looked at her with no pleasant expression in his eyes. Up to this time she had amused him by her ridiculous affectation; but now he began to hate her, for he saw under all her extravagance a vein of bitter malice, subtle as the venom of a serpent. He could not altogether disbelieve her, but detested her the more for that. We never love, and seldom forgive, those who destroy our illusions. Miss Eliza took the half-open rose from her bosom, blew a kiss into its leaves, and gave it to him. “We have wasted some precious minutes on this worthless girl,” she said, “let this compensate for the annoyance.” Savage took the rose and crushed it ruthlessly in his hand. “As I could crush her!” he muttered, turning away and leaving the room before Eliza had time to stop him. She started up and ran to the door, calling out, “Mr. Savage! Mr. Savage!” He heard her, and muttered something between his teeth, which was neither a compliment nor a blessing. That moment he was opposite the door of Georgiana’s room. “I ought to go in and release her from that kind promise; but not yet—not yet. I have not the courage to tell her yet. Besides, it may be false—it may be false! Georgiana, herself, did not seem more innocent than she was; and the old woman, too—was all her sweetness put on? I have heard of such things—seen them, too. The meekest looking woman I ever saw had murdered two husbands, and was caught looking out for a third. If mother Burns is one of that sort, no wonder her grandchild is mistress of her art. But it is not true—I cannot believe it. So sweet, so gentle, so——”