ot realize what you are saying or where you
are. Take a seat nearer the fire, and when Mr. Ostrom comes from his
work he'll take you to your friends."

All the while she was speaking the woman regarded her with a hard,
stony gaze; then replied, coldly and decisively, "You are wrong,
miss"--how that title grated on Alida's ears!--"I am neither insane nor
drunk. I do know what I am saying and where I am. You are playing a
bold game or else you have been deceived, and very easily deceived,
too. They say some women are so eager to be married that they ask no
questions, but jump at the first chance. Whether deceived or
deceiving, it doesn't matter now. But you and he shall learn that
there is a law in the land which will protect an honest woman in her
sacred rights. You needn't look so shocked and bewildered. You are
not a young, giddy girl if I may judge from your face. What else could
you expect when you took up with a stranger you knew nothing about? Do
you know that likeness?" and she drew from her bosom a daguerreotype.

Alida waved it away as she said indignantly, "I won't believe ill of my
husband. I--"

"No, miss," interrupted the woman sternly, "you are right for once.
You won't indeed believe ill of YOUR husband, but you'll have to
believe ill of MINE. There's no use of your putting on such airs any
longer. No matter how rash and silly you may have been, if you have a
spark of honesty you'll be open to proof. If you and he try to brazen
it out, the law will open both your eyes. Look at that likeness, look
at these letters; and I have other proof and witnesses which can't be
disputed. The name of the man you are living with is not Wilson
Ostrom. His name is Henry Ferguson. I am Mrs. Ferguson, and I have my
marriage certificate, and--What! Are you going to faint? Well, I can
wait till you recover and till HE comes," and she coolly sat down again.

Alida had glanced at the proofs which the woman had thrust into her
hands, then staggered back to a lounge that stood near. She might have
fainted, but at that awful moment she heard a familiar step on the
stairs. She was facing the door; the terrible stranger sat at one
side, with her back toward it.

When Ostrom entered he first saw Alida looking pale and ill. He
hastened toward her exclaiming, "Why, Lida, dear, what is the matter?
You are sick!"

Instinctively she sprang to his arms, crying, "Oh, thank God! You've
come. Take away this awful w