Neither Fair nor her mother had heard any footstep at the door, and the loud, sudden rap startled them so that Mrs. Fielding fell back on her pillow with a cry of alarm, and Fair dropped the little brown hat she was about to place on her curly head, and started violently as she called out: “Who is there?” No answer came, but a hand grasped the handle of the door and shook it rudely. It was locked, however, and Fair made no motion to open it, but called out as before: “Who is there? Is it Sadie Allen?” A loud, angry voice answered sharply: “It is I--your husband! Open the door, and let me in.” “I will not!” the girl answered defiantly, although her slight frame trembled, and she instinctively glanced at the bed. To her horror and distress, she heard her mother gasp despairingly: “Oh, I remember all! Fair is married to that wretch! There is nothing but misery and despair in store for my darling,” and, with the last words, she fell back and lay still and white, as she had done the night before. “Come, none of your airs, madam! I am your master, and I command that you open the door at once!” sounded the angry, threatening voice outside, ending with a bitter oath. Springing to the door, the hunted, desperate girl answered hoarsely: “Oh, go away, I beg of you! My mother is ill, and she will die of excitement unless you cease your persecutions.” George Lorraine began to coax and wheedle, but she interrupted him in impatient wrath: “You are wasting your breath. I hate you, and will never recognize any tie you may claim to exist between us. The door is locked, and I will never admit you, so go away and leave me to care for my poor, sick mother.” She heard an oath, coupled with a threat to break the door down, but she paid no heed. She had darted to her mother’s side, and was anxiously bending over the silent form. “Mother!” she shrieked aloud, in fear and terror, for the aspect of her mother filled her with wild foreboding. Mrs. Fielding’s eyes were wide open, and her lower jaw had fallen, while her face and hands already had a cold, clammy feeling that forced the truth on the almost distracted daughter. The poor, feeble heart had given way under the shock of fear and grief, and she was dead. While Fair was making this awful discovery, George Lorraine, who had fortified himself for this occasion by a copious libation of whisky, was trying what brute strength could do toward forcing an entrance to the presence of his obdurate bride. With a few vigorous kicks, he forced the lock of the frail door, and precipitated himself into the room, boldly followed by several of the inmates of the house, who had been attracted by the uproar he made. And what a sight met their curious eyes! The dead woman lay extended on the bed, and at their entrance poor Fair lifted a wild, white, agonized face from her mother’s breast, and, seeing George Lorraine’s flushed, triumphant face, she advanced toward him, screaming wildly: