shed through the door. A veil seemed to
fall away from it. All its virtuous sobriety was gone, and a smile of
evil satisfaction curved about her lips and danced in her keen black
eyes. She stood still, listening to the retiring steps of her visitor,
until she heard the street door shut. Then, with a quick, cat-like step,
she crossed to the opposite side of the room, and pushed open a door
that led to an adjoining chamber. A woman came forward to meet her. This
woman was taller and stouter than Mrs. Bray, and had a soft, sensual
face, but a resolute mouth, the under jaw slightly protruding. Her eyes
were small and close together, and had that peculiar wily and alert
expression you sometimes see, making you think of a serpent's eyes. She
was dressed in common finery and adorned by cheap jewelry.

"What do you think of that, Pinky Swett?" exclaimed Mrs. Bray, in a
voice of exultation. "Got her all right, haven't I?"

"Well, you have!" answered the woman, shaking all over with unrestrained
laughter. "The fattest pigeon I've happened to see for a month of
Sundays. Is she very rich?"

"Her husband is, and that's all the same. And now, Pinky"--Mrs. Bray
assumed a mock gravity of tone and manner--"you know your fate--New
Orleans and the yellow fever. You must pack right off. Passage free and
a hundred dollars for funeral expenses. Nice wet graves down there--keep
off the fire;" and she gave a low chuckle.

"Oh yes; all settled. When does the next steamer sail?" and Pinky almost
screamed with merriment. She had been drinking.

"H-u-s-h! h-u-s-h! None of that here, Pinky. The people down stairs are
good Methodists, and think me a saint."

"You a saint? Oh dear!" and she shook with repressed enjoyment.

After this the two women grew serious, and put their heads together for
business.

"Who is this woman, Fan? What's her name, and where does she live?"
asked Pinky Swett.

"That's my secret, Pinky," replied Mrs. Bray, "and I can't let it go; it
wouldn't be safe. You get a little off the handle sometimes, and don't
know what you say--might let the cat out of the bag. Sally Long took the
baby away, and she died two months ago; so I'm the only one now in
the secret. All I want of you is to keep track of the baby. Here is a
five-dollar bill; I can't trust you with more at a time. I know your
weakness, Pinky;" and she touched her under the chin in a familiar,
patronizing way.

Pinky wasn't satisfied with this, and growled a l