But imagine her terror as she saw an old crony of Van Dam's enter the room. The man recognized her in a moment, and she saw that he did. She gave him an imploring glance, which he returned by one of cool contempt. Zell could hardly get through the meal, and her manner attracted attention. The cold-blooded fellow, whose soul was akin to that of his dead friend, was considerate enough to his hostess not to spoil her dinner or rob her of a waitress till it was over. But the moment they returned to the parlor he told who Zell was, and how she must have just come from the smallpox hospital. The lady (?) was in a frenzy of rage and fear. She rushed down to where Zell was panting with weakness and emotion, exclaiming: "You shameful hussy, how dare you come into a respectable house, after your loathsome life and loathsome disease?" "Hear me," pleaded Zell; "the doctor said there was no danger, and I want to do what is right." "I don't believe a word you say. I wouldn't trust you a minute. How much you have stolen now it will be hard to tell, and I shouldn't wonder if we all had the smallpox. Leave the house instantly." "Oh, please give me a chance," cried Zell, on her knees. "Indeed, I am honest. I'll work for you for nothing, if you will let me stay." "Leave instantly, or I will call for a policeman." "Then pay me my week's wages," sobbed Zell. "I won't pay you a cent, you brazen creature. You didn't know how to do anything, and have been a torment ever since you came. I might have known there was something wrong. Now go, take your old, pest-infected rags out of my house, or I will have you sent to where you properly belong. Thank Heaven, I have found you out." A sudden change came over Zell. She sprang up, and a scowl black as night darkened her face. "What has Heaven to do with your sending a poor girl out into the night, I would like to know?" she asked, in a harsh, grating voice; "I wouldn't do it. Therefore, I am better than you are. Heaven has nothing to do with either you or me;" and she looked so dark and dangerous that her mistress was frightened, and ran up to the parlor, exclaiming: "She's an awful creature. I'm afraid of her." Then that manly being, her husband, towered up in his wrath, saying, majestically, "I guess I'm master in my own house yet." He showed poor Zell the door. Her laugh rang out recklessly, as she called-- "Good-by. May the pleasant thought that you have sent one more soul to perdition lull you to sweet sleep." But, for some reason, it did not. When they became cool enough to think it over, they admitted that perhaps they had been a "little hasty." They had a daughter of about Zell's age. It would be a little hard if any one should treat her so.