"Julia, far from contaminating the child, Miss Crane has already done much to counteract the effects of your very injudicious management of him. What I have said I will do. You know I am not the man to break my word." "Gracious Heavens! I believe you are in love with the woman!" "No, you know better than that. My relations with Miss Crane are not of an amorous nature, but they are important, nevertheless, to me--and must be respected." "Well, if this is all the thanks I am to get for warning you of a danger that threatens your life, I hope you'll be able to protect yourself--but, mark me, uncle, you will be sorry for having behaved so cruelly. What can I do? You know I am dependent upon you and must submit. But it is wicked and wrong of you to take advantage of that to force upon me the presence of a creature I detest. And for what good?" And Mrs. Darrow once more opened the flood-gates wide, and with them her whole battery of accompanying gesticulations. "There, there," said Barton, pouring out another glass of wine for her, "drink this, and have a little more confidence in me. You are quite wrong about Miss Crane. Be a sensible woman, Julia, for once in a way, and drop this. I have told you I won't have it, so there's an end of the matter." She drank the wine, adjusted her cloak, and stepped towards the window which he held open for her. "I must do what you wish," she blurted out, "because I am poor and defenceless--but the day will come, and that soon, Uncle Barton, when you will be sorry indeed for having trusted that wretch instead of _me_." Without another word he shut the window on her. Then he returned to his seat, and gazed moodily into the fire. "I must see Miriam," he muttered, "there is danger--great danger." CHAPTER XIV. ON CHRISTMAS NIGHT. Christmas Day dawned--the day of peace and goodwill, of renewed friendships and Christian forgiveness. Mrs. Darrow was very careful to observe the day as behoved a righteous and gentle spirit. Compelled by the weightiest of reasons to keep silence, she restrained the horrid words which were on the tip of her tongue, and at breakfast addressed Miriam with something like a show of kindness. The girl looked terribly pale and ill; but was, as always, complete mistress of herself. She had gone straight to bed on her return from the church, and had of course no idea that Mrs. Darrow had followed her; she did not even know she had been out. But the change in Mrs. Darrow's demeanour in nowise imposed on her. She accepted it gravely and quietly for what it was worth, and welcomed it only as tending to lessen the chances of friction for the time being.