"Oh, I know my own knowing, sir," interrupted Mrs. Slade, tossing her head. "A nice wife Mr. Finland will get. She carries on with my Jeremiah. Oh yes, she does! I dare say she ran away first, and he went up to London to meet her." "Slade went to London at my request, on my business." "I dare say. You're in the plot, too. You want Jeremiah to run away with that girl. But he shan't--he shan't! I'll pull her hair out!" Johnson could not forbear a smile. The idea of coupling Tera with the lanky red-haired policeman seemed too absurd. "Really, Mrs. Slade," he exclaimed, with as much composure as he could command, "you're quite wrong. Bithiah does not know your---- Ah!" the preacher jumped, "what is that?" Mrs. Slade had stronger nerves, and did not jump, but she also turned towards the window. "It's one of them dratted gipsies," said she, in an acidulated voice. "Pharaoh Lee, what do you mean by poking your nose into private business?" "May I come in, rye?" said he--for it was indeed Pharaoh who stood in the window--Pharaoh, haggard and fierce-looking. "I want to speak to you--and to her." "Well, I'm sure," gasped Jemima; "the impertinence!" "I am engaged just now, Lee," said the minister, annoyed at the man's intrusion; "and may I remind you that in civilized communities visitors usually enter by the door." "I'm sorry, rye, but I came in the easiest way I could." Lee stepped into the room. "I followed this woman up here." "Woman yourself, fellow! How dare you?" "Why did you follow her?" asked the preacher, to prevent a quarrel. "To ask her about Zara." "What do I know of your dirt?" said Mrs. Slade, disdainfully. "Your husband knows about her, if you don't," retorted Pharaoh. "But why do I say your husband? As I live, I believe Slade is the husband of Zara, and you----" "I'll scratch your face if you call me names," shrieked Mrs. Slade. "Jeremiah's my husband. I have my marriage lines to prove it. I'm a respectable woman; none o' yer gipsy trash." "Your husband was in love with Zara a year ago!" "That's a lie," contradicted the woman. "I thought he was, but he wasn't. I've just found out that it was Mr. Johnson's nigger girl he was after, and I've come up to tell him so. Ay, and she was sweet on him, too!" "Impossible; ridiculous!" "I tell you she was, sir!" "Hold your tongue," cried Lee, ferociously. "Slade was in love with Zara. I believe he married her first and you afterwards. I have no doubt he murdered her to conceal that first marriage." Johnson uttered an exclamation, and Mrs. Slade grew a trifle pale. "It ain't true," she said vehemently; "you know it ain't. It was this Bithiah girl, not Zara. Why did she give him one of her pearls if it wasn't? Look here!" The woman fished a pearl out of a scrap of newspaper and held it up. "I found this in Slade's box!"