"I scarcely seem to know. It seems to me a dream. I married John, and he
brought me to New York. Then the war came, and he went and was killed.
And mother was dead, and I had no friends in the great city. I could get
no work, and I was starving, indeed I was, Mr. Wayne. So a young man,
who was very handsome, and rich, I think, for he gave me money and fine
dresses, he promised me--Oh, Mr. Wayne, I was very wrong and foolish,
and I wish I could die, and be buried by my poor mother."

"And did he bring you here?"

"Oh no, sir. I came here two weeks ago, after he had left me. And when
he came in one night and found me here, he was very angry, and said he
would kill me if I told any one that I knew him. And I know why; but you
won't tell, Mr. Wayne, for it would make him angry. I have found out
that he is married to the mistress of this house. He's a bad man, I know
now, and often comes here drunk, and swears at the woman and the girls.
Hark! that's her room, next to mine, and I think he's in there now."

The faint sound of voices, smothered by the walls, reached them from the
adjoining chamber; but as they listened, the door of that room opened,
and the loud and angry tones of a man, speaking at the threshold, could
be distinctly heard. Arthur quietly and carefully opened the door of
Mary's room, an inch or less, and listened at the aperture. He was not
mistaken; he recognized the voice of Philip Searle.

"I'll do it, anyhow," said Philip, angrily, and with the thick utterance
of one who had been drinking. "I'll do it; and if you trouble me, I'll
fix you."