“Of what baseness do you suspect me?” said Ricardo, indignantly. “It is true that finding this girl to be a strong medium, my friend and I have used her to assist us in our studies in spiritualism, but if anyone is in fault in the matter, it is I. Hannah is perfectly blameless; indeed, she does not even know what has occurred. Pray, therefore, do not visit the misfortune on her innocent head. If Mrs. Stubbs does not believe in, or does not approve of, Spiritualism, she can at least sympathise with the marvellous power which her daughter possesses, and which is as rare as it is wonderful.” “_Sympathise!_” screamed Mrs. Stubbs. “No! Sir, I don’t, nor with any dealings with the Devil, nor witches, nor sorcery, nor----” “Devils! Witches! Fiddlesticks!” cried Ricardo, impatiently. “It’ll fiddlestick you, Sir, and that misfortunate gal there, if you don’t take ’eed to your ways,” retorted his irate adversary. “Me and mine ’ave been brought hup Christuns from our birth--in sound Methody principles--and we won’t stand no devilry, nor doings of Satan--and no more will this young man ’ere!” “No! no! certingly not!” exclaimed the chivalrous Joe, “hit’s hall hover with me and Hannah from this hour.” “What! are _you_, too, going to turn against her, for a temperament which is no fault of her own?” exclaimed the Professor, addressing the young farmer. “You--who professed to be her lover! Shame on you! You are not a man! Men were different in my day. They stood by the women they had promised to defend, to the very last--I think Hannah is well quit of such as you.” “O! do you, Sir?” interposed Mrs. Stubbs, “and we thinks we’re well quit of the Devil and hall his himps! As you’ve been the means of leading this un’appy gal astray, and ’aving ’er turned out of a good place, and spurned by ’er relations, p’r’aps you’ll see arter ’er for the future, and the Devil and you will ’elp ’er to make a living, for no one else will.” The Professor looked like a grand old hero as he replied, “_I will!_ You may depend on that! Whilst I have a crust, she shall share it! I would be ashamed to own so cold and unfeeling a heart as you seem to possess, though you _are_ her mother. Do not cry so bitterly, Hannah! I will see that you do not want! As for you, Sir,” he continued, turning to Joe Brushwood, “words cannot express the contempt I feel for you! You are a poltroon--a coward--a cur! In my country, they do not let men like you _live!_ Mrs. Battleby, I accept your notice, and will leave your rooms as soon as I have found others. Till then, I hope you will allow Hannah to remain under your care, and to-morrow I will tell you with whom I have decided to place her. Good-night!” He quitted the kitchen with the air of a _preux chevalier_, and the persons in it felt very small.