ber face wore an expression of satisfaction.

"There! it is done," she said, wiping her pen carefully. "You will take
lessons, any lessons you please, from the professors who attend the
school. It is a grand chance, miss, a grand chance. Let us say you go
the day after to-morrow; the child will be quite ready. She is going for
four years to that splendid place, a place for ladies of the highest
degree."

At that moment an imperious knock sounded upon the outer door, and the
little girl ran to answer it, leaving the door of our room open. A voice
which I knew well, a voice which made my heart stand still and my veins
curdle, spoke in sharp loud tones in the hall.

"Is Mr. Foster come home yet?" were the words the terrible voice
uttered, quite close to me it seemed; so close that I shrank back
shivering as if every syllable struck a separate blow. All my senses
were awake: I could hear every sound in the hall, each step that came
nearer and nearer. Was she about to enter the room where I was sitting?
She stood still for half a minute as if uncertain what to do.

"He is up stairs," said the child's voice. "He told me he was ill when I
opened the door for him."

"Where is Mrs. Wilkinson?" she asked.

"She is here," said the child, "but there's a lady with her."

Then the woman's footsteps went on up the staircase. I listened to them
climbing up one step after another, my brain throbbing with each sound,
and I heard a door opened and closed. Mrs. Wilkinson had gone to the
door, and looked out into the hall, as if expecting some other questions
to be asked. She had not seen my panic of despair. I must get away
before I lost the use of my senses, for I felt giddy and faint.

"I will send the child to you in a cab on Wednesday," she said, as I
stood up and made my way toward the hall; "you have not told me your
address."

I paused for a moment. Dared I tell her my address? Yet my money was
paid, and if I did not I should lose both it and the refuge I had bought
with it. Besides, I should awaken suspicion and inquiry by silence. It
was a fearful risk to run; yet it seemed safer than a precipitous
retreat. I gave her my address, and saw her write it down on a slip of
paper.

As I returned to my lodgings I grew calmer and more hopeful. It was not
likely that my husband would see the address, or even hear that any one
like me had been at the house. I did not suppose he would know the name
of Martineau as my mother's mai