“You leave the young man alone, Hannah,” interrupted her mother, “’e’s doing the right thing in casting you hoff, and I, for one, won’t blame ’im for it! Do you suppose any decent feller will marry you with these devils allays arter you? You’re a Witch! that’s what you are, and a Sorceress. You’ve sold yourself to the Devil and ought to be burnt alive, as they did to sich as you in the good old times. Likely a respectable man like Joe Brushwood, would own you now--when your own people won’t! _I_ won’t ’ave you a’coming ’ome, contaminating your brothers and sisters with your devilish ways, no more won’t your father! You must make your living the best way you can for the future, for you don’t see me nor ’ome no more, and that I tells you straight.” “Mother! mother! don’t go to say that!” cried Hannah, in despair, as she flung herself down upon the floor and burst into tears. At that moment, the spare figure of the Professor appeared at the open door of the kitchen. “Mrs. Battleby!” he commenced, and then perceiving the attitude which Hannah had assumed, he broke off his request with, “Why! what is the matter? Is Hannah ill?” “No! Sir, she hain’t hill,” replied Mrs. Stubbs, guessing his identity, “but she’s cast off by ’er friends and ’er young man, for hever.” Ricardo looked at the stranger with mild surprise. “But why?” he inquired, “what has she done?” “And you can stand there, and arsk me that, you brazen-faced impostor?” cried Mrs. Stubbs, with undisguised fury, “when it’s all along of you and your diabolical practices, that the pore gal ’ave lost ’er good name and repitation? What have _you_ done--that’s more to the puppuss, a’avin ’er up to your rooms a nights--your dark rooms ’ung with black--and playing with ’ell fire as you do? Why ’ave you been a’calling up sperrits and ghosties and sich-like, and frightening us all out of our wits. But since it is so, and Hannah, she ’ave been fool enough to play into your ’ands (wich I’m sure you’re old enough to know better than to lead young gals astray), she ain’t no more a child of mine, and she don’t come ’ome no more, neither, to contaminate ’er brothers and sisters. She belongs to the Devil and let ’im keep ’er! _I_ don’t!” “But, my dear Madam,” said the Professor, “you mistake altogether! My friend Doctor Steinberg has been trying to cure your daughter of her natural weakness----” “Bah!” exclaimed the irate mother, more emphatically than politely. “Go along with yer!” “Mrs. Battleby, _you_ can explain this matter,” said Ricardo, turning to his landlady. “No! Sig-nor, I can’t,” she replied, “I must make bold to tell you that I went into your locked-up room the other day, and I listened at your door last night and I know _all!_ And I’ll be much obliged if you’ll find another lodging, Sig-nor, by this day week. Mysteries as is jined with books I can be easy with, but not Mysteries as is jined with gals!”