onnected the patch of garden
at the back with the patch in front. Here, running the risk, he waited
and listened.

The first voice that reached his ears was the voice of Mrs. Ronald. She
was speaking with a firmness of tone that astonished him.

"Hear me to the end, Benjamin," she said. "I have a right to ask as much
as that of my husband, and I do ask it. If I had been bent on nothing
but saving the reputation of our miserable girl, you would have a right
to blame me for keeping you ignorant of the calamity that has fallen on
us--"

There the voice of her husband interposed sternly. "Calamity! Say
disgrace, everlasting disgrace."

Mrs. Ronald did not notice the interruption. Sadly and patiently she
went on.

"But I had a harder trial still to face," she said. "I had to save her,
in spite of herself, from the wretch who has brought this infamy on us.
He has acted throughout in cold blood; it is his interest to marry her,
and from first to last he has plotted to force the marriage on us. For
God's sake, don't speak loud! She is in the room above us; if she hears
you it will be the death of her. Don't suppose I am talking at random;
I have looked at his letters to her; I have got the confession of the
servant-girl. Such a confession! Emma is his victim, body and soul. I
know it! I know that she sent him money (_my_ money) from this place. I
know that the servant (at _her_ instigation) informed him by telegraph
of the birth of the child. Oh, Benjamin, don't curse the poor helpless
infant--such a sweet little girl! don't think of it! I don't think of
it! Show me the letter that brought you here; I want to see the letter.
Ah, I can tell you who wrote it! _He_ wrote it. In his own interests;
always with his own interests in view. Don't you see it for yourself? If
I succeed in keeping this shame and misery a secret from everybody--if
I take Emma away, to some place abroad, on pretence of her health--there
is an end of his hope of becoming your son-in-law; there is an end of
his being taken into the business. Yes! he, the low-lived vagabond
who puts up the shop-shutters, _he_ looks forward to being taken into
partnership, and succeeding you when you die! Isn't his object in
writing that letter as plain to you now as the heaven above us? His one
chance is to set your temper in a flame, to provoke the scandal of a
discovery--and to force the marriage on us as the only remedy left. Am
I wrong in making any sacrifice, rather