"This compromise does not suit me," said the cloaked gentleman, turning abruptly to Bulgin. "You are a villain, sir. It is men like you who bring the Gospel of Christ into contempt. You are an atheist, sir. It is men like you who fill the world with infidels. I have borne with you long enough. I will bear with you no longer. You shall be exposed, sir." This style of attack, as impetuous as a charge of bayonets, evidently startled the good Doctor. "Who are _you_?" he asked, sneeringly. "I am the man who wrote the letters to these three gentlemen, yesterday," dryly responded the cloaked gentleman. "This is a conspiracy," growled Bulgin. "Take care, sir! There is a law for conspirators against character and reputation--" "Baugh!" responded the old gentleman, shrugging his shoulders; and then he beckoned with his hand, toward the recess in which stood the bed. "Come in," he said, "it is time." Two persons emerged from the recess; one, an old man, of portly form, and mild, good-humored face--now, alas! dark and corrugated with suppressed wrath; the other, a slender woman, with pale face, and large, intellectual eyes,--and a baby, sleeping on her bosom. Bulgin uttered an oath. "My wife!--her father!" was all he could utter. "I have summoned you from your home in the country," said the cloaked gentleman, "to meet me at this house at this unusual hour, to show you the husband and son-in-law in his festival attire, and in company with his paramour.--Look at him! Isn't he beautiful?" The wife rushed forward, with an indignant glance-- "Let me see the woman who has stolen my husband's affections," she said. The cloaked gentleman interposed between her and Julia,-- "Softly, my good lady; this poor child must not be disgraced;" and, turning to Julia, he whispered: "Hide your face with your 'kerchief, and hurry from the room. There is a carriage at the door; it will bear you home. Away now!" "The nephew" did not need a second invitation. Hands over her face, she glided from the room. Bulgin now found himself in this position:--behind him, Watkins, Burns and Potts; on his right, the cloaked gentleman; on his left, his weeping wife, with her baby; in front, the burly form of his father-in-law, who, clad in the easy costume of a country gentleman, seemed too full of wrath to trust himself with words. "Oh! husband, how could you--" began the wife. "Is that your wife, sir?" thundered the father-in-law. "Answer me! Is that your wife?" "It is," answered Bulgin, retreating a step. "Allow me to explain,--" "Is that your child, sir?" thundered the enraged old gentleman. "Answer me! Is that your child?" "It--is--" and Bulgin retreated another step. "Then, what in the devil do you do in a place like this?--Hey?--Answer me!--answer me!--"