ation.

"I cannot keep her away without satisfying her demands. If you were to
see her yourself, you would know just what her demands were. If you do
not see her, you will only have my word for it, and I am left open
to misapprehension, if not worse. I don't like to be placed in such a
position."

And Mrs. Bray put on a dignified, half-injured manner.

"It's a wretched business in every way," she added, "and I'm sorry that
I ever had anything to do with it. It's something dreadful, as I told
you at the time, to cast a helpless baby adrift in such a way. Poor
little soul! I shall never feel right about it."

"That's neither here nor there;" and Mrs. Dinneford waved her hand
impatiently. "The thing now in hand is to deal with this woman."

"Yes, that's it--and as I said just now, I would rather have you deal
with her yourself; you may be able to do it better than I can."

"It's no use to talk, Mrs. Bray. I will not see the woman."

"Very well; you must be your own judge in the case."

"Can't you bind her up to something, or get her out of the city? I'd
pay almost anything to have her a thousand miles away. See if you can't
induce her to go to New Orleans. I'll pay her passage, and give her a
hundred dollars besides, if she'll go."

Mrs. Bray smiled a faint, sinister smile:

"If you could get her off there, it would be the end of her. She'd never
stand the fever."

"Then get her off, cost what it may," said Mrs. Dinneford.

"She will be here in less than half an hour." Mrs. Bray looked at the
face of a small cheap clock that stood on the mantel.

"She will?" Mrs. Dinneford became uneasy, and arose from her chair.

"Yes; what shall I say to her?"

"Manage her the best you can. Here are thirty dollars--all the money I
have with me. Give her that, and promise more if necessary. I will see
you again."

"When?" asked Mrs. Bray.

"At any time you desire."

"Then you had better come to-morrow morning. I shall not go out."

"I will be here at eleven o'clock. Induce her if possible to leave the
city--to go South, so that she may never come back."

"The best I can shall be done," replied Mrs. Bray as she folded the
bank-bills she had received from Mrs. Dinneford in a fond, tender sort
of way and put them into her pocket.

Mrs. Dinneford retired, saying as she did so,

"I will be here in the morning."

An instant change came over the shallow face of the wiry little woman as
the form of Mrs. Dinneford vani