"Now, then," she cried, harshly, after the door had closed upon the maid, "get into these duds at once!"
Miss Rogers obeyed; and when at length the change was made, Sally pointed to the door and cried, shrilly:
"Now go!"
"But the storm!" persisted Miss Rogers, piteously. "Oh, Sally, at least let me stay until the storm has spent its fury!"
"Not an instant!" cried Sally Pendleton, fairly dragging her from the room and down the corridor to the main door, which she flung open, thrust her victim through it, and out into the storm.
CHAPTER XVIII.
FATE WEAVES A STRANGE WEB.
If Sally Pendleton had taken the trouble to look out after the trembling old woman she had thrust so unceremoniously into the raging storm, she would not have gone up to her own room with such a self-satisfied smile on her face.
Just as that little scene was taking place, a brougham, drawn by a pair of spirited horses, was being driven rapidly down the street, and was almost abreast of the house as this extraordinary little drama was being enacted.
Its occupant had ordered the driver to halt at the Pendleton mansion, and looking out of the window, he had seen with amazement the whole occurrence—had seen Sally Pendleton, who had always posed before him as a sweet-tempered angel—actually thrust a feeble-looking, poorly-dressed woman out of the house and into the street to face a storm so wild and pitiless that most people would have hesitated before even turning a homeless, wandering cur out into it.