"Oh! you remember—the woman who tried to stop my marriage. Mollie quieted her on that occasion, and they had a private talk."
"Yes, yes! I remember. Go on. How did Miriam come to be with Mollie, and who the mischief is Miriam?"
"Her aunt."
"Her aunt?"
"Her mother's sister—yes. Her mother's name was Dane. Who that mother was," said Mrs. Walraven, with spiteful emphasis, "I fancy Mr. Walraven could tell you."
"Ah!" said her cousin, with a side-long glance, "I shouldn't wonder. I'll not ask him, however. Proceed."
"I took to reading a novel after I came home," proceeded Mrs. Walraven, "and my husband went to bed. I remained with my book in the drawing-room, very much interested, until nearly midnight. I fancied all in the house had retired; therefore, when I heard a soft rustling of silk swishing past the drawing-room door, I was considerably surprised. An instant later, and the house door was softly unfastened. I turned the handle noiselessly and peeped out. There, in her pink dinner toilet, jewels and all, was Miss Dane, stealing upstairs, and following her, this wretched, ragged creature, Miriam."
"Well?" said the doctor.
"Well, I followed. They entered Miss Dane's chamber and closed the door. The temptation was strong, the spirit willing, and the flesh weak. I crouched at the key-hole and listened. It was a very long conversation—it was fully three o'clock before Miriam departed—but it held me spell-bound with its interest from beginning to end. Once I was nearly caught—I sneezed. I vanished behind a big cabinet, and just saved myself, for they opened the door. Mollie set it down to the wind, or the rats, closed the door again, and my curiosity overcoming my fear of detection, I crept back and heard every word."
"Well?" again said the doctor.