moment, away with her from Slane; the rest she had left ready
packed to be sent to her when she should be settled. When she wrote to
Maclure for them, she sent him some housekeeping keys she had
forgotten to leave behind, and an inventory of everything she had had
charge of, which she had always kept carefully checked. He
acknowledged the receipt of this letter, and informed her that he had
gone over the inventory himself, and found some of the linen in a bad
state and one silver teaspoon missing. Beth replied that the linen had
been fairly worn out, but she could not account for the missing spoon,
and offered to pay for it. Dr. Maclure replied by return of post on a
post-card that the price was seven shillings. Beth sent him a postal
order for that amount. He then wrote to say that the cost of the
conveyance of the luggage to the station was half-a-crown. Beth sent
him half-a-crown, and then the correspondence ended. She received
letters from some of her relations, however, to whom Maclure had
hastened to send his version of the story. Poor old Aunt Grace Mary
was the only one, who did not accept it. "Write and tell me the truth
of the matter, my dear," she said. The others took it for granted that
Beth could have nothing to say for herself, and her brother Jim was
especially indignant and insulting, his opinion of her being couched
in the most offensive language. Having lived with disreputable women
all his life, he had the lowest possible opinion of the whole sex, his
idea being that any woman would misconduct herself if she had the
chance and was not well watched. He warned Beth not to apply to him if
she should be starving, or to claim his acquaintance should she meet
him in the street. Beth's cheeks burned with shame when she read this
letter and some of the others she received, and she hastened to
destroy them; but the horror they set up in her brought on a nervous
crisis such as she had suffered from in the early days when Dan first
brought her down to his own low level of vice and suspicion, and
turned her deadly sick. She answered none of these letters, and, by
dint of resolutely banishing all thought of them and of the writers,
she managed in time to obliterate the impression; but she had to live
through some terrible hours before she succeeded.

Once settled in her attic home, she returned to the healthy, regular,
industrious habits which had helped her so much in the days when she
had been at her best. Her