Matilda entered the room and heard that Mrs. Krill had to go out on business with Mr. Hurd. On receiving her orders she departed, and presently returned with the cloak and hat. Mrs. Krill, who was now quite cool, put these on. Hurd could not but admire the brave way in which she faced the terrible situation. Maud seemed to be far more upset, and Hurd wondered if the young woman knew the truth. Mrs. Krill kept soothing her. "It will be all right, my love. Don't excite yourself. It will be all right," she said several times. Miss Junk departed, and Mrs. Krill said that she was ready to depart. Hurd offered her his arm, which she rejected, and walked to the door with a firm step, although her face was rather white. At the door she caught her daughter round the neck and kissed her several times, after which she whispered earnestly in her ear, and then went down the stairs with the detective in attendance. Maud, with white lips and cheeks, but with dry eyes, followed. When her mother was safely in the cab, the plain-clothes policeman alighted, so that Hurd might take his place. Maud came quietly down the steps and seized the detective by the arm. "You have ruined my mother," she said in a cold, hard tone; "you have robbed me of my money and of the chance of marrying the man I love. I can't hurt you; but that girl, Sylvia--she shall never get one penny--so, remember!" Hurd shook her off, and, stepping into the cab, drove away. Mrs. Krill looked apprehensively at him. "What did Maud say?" she asked. Hurd told her, and Mrs. Krill closed her lips firmly. "Maud is quite right," she said with a strange smile. "Sylvia will never get the money." CHAPTER XXV A CRUEL WOMAN "Jus' say your meanin', my pretty queen," said Mrs. Tawsey, as she stood at the sitting-room door, and watched Sylvia reading an ill-written letter. "It's twelve now, and I kin be back by five, arter a long, and enjiable tork with Matilder." "You certainly must go," replied Sylvia, handing back the letter. "I am sure your sister will be glad to see you, Debby." Deborah sniffed and scratched her elbow. "Relatives ain't friends in our family," she said, shaking her head, "whatever you may say, my deary-sweet. Father knocked mother int' lunatics arter she'd nagged 'im to drunk an' police-cells. Three brothers I 'ad, and all of 'em that 'andy with their fistises as they couldn't a-bear to live in 'armony without black eyes and swolled bumps all over them. As to Matilder, she an' me never did, what you might call, hit it orf, by reason of 'er not givin' way to me, as she should ha' done, me bein' the youngest and what you might call the baby of the lot. We ain't seen each other fur years, and the meetin' will be cold. She'll not have much forgiveness fur me bein' a bride, when she's but a lone cross-patch, drat her."