“He is my husband, and you should not speak about him so to me,” said Miranda, struggling with her tears, and scarce knowing in what vein to converse with the rude woman, whose strange language bewildered and frightened her.

“Bah!” said Moll, roughly.  “You’re a simpleton.  There, don’t cry, though heaven knows you’ve cause enough, poor thing!  Philip Searle’s a villain.  I could send him to the State prison if I chose.”

“Oh, no! don’t say that; indeed, don’t.”

“I tell you I could; but I will not, if you mind me, and do what I tell you.  I’m a bad creature, but I won’t harm you, if I can help it.  You helped me when I was lying there, after that villain hurt me, and I can’t help liking you.  And yet you’ve hurt me, too.”

“I!”

“Yes.  Shall I tell you a story?  Poor girl! you’re wretched enough now, but you’d better know the truth at once.  Listen to me:  I was an innocent girl, like you, once.  Not so beautiful, perhaps, and not so good; for I was always proud and willful, and loved to have my own way.  I was a country girl, and had money left to me by my dead parents.  A young man made my acquaintance.  He was gay and handsome, and made me believe that he loved me.  Well, I married him—­do you hear?  I married him—­at the church, with witnesses, and a minister to make me his true and lawful wife.  Curse him!  I wish he had dropped down dead at the altar.  There, you needn’t shudder; it would have been well for you if he had.  I married him, and then commenced my days of sorrow and—­of guilt.  He squandered my money at the gambling-table, and I was sometimes in rags and without food.  He was drunk half the time, and abused me; but I was even with him there, and gave him as good as he gave me.  He taught me to drink, and such a time as we sometimes made together would have made Satan blush.  I thought I was low enough; but he drove me lower yet.  He put temptation in my way—­he did, curse his black heart! though he denied it.  I fell as low as woman can fall, and then I suppose you think he left me?  Well, he did, for a time; he went off somewhere, and perhaps it was then he was trying to ruin some other girl, as foolish as I had been.  But he came back, and got money from me—­the wages of my sin.  And all the while, he was as handsome, and could talk as softly as if he was a saint.  And with that smooth tongue and handsome face he won another bride, and married her—­married her, I tell you; and that’s why I can send him to the State prison.”

“Send him!  Who?  My God! what do you mean?” cried Miranda, rising slowly from her chair, with clasped hands and ashen cheeks.

“Philip Searle, my husband!” shouted Moll, rising also, and standing with gleaming eyes before the trembling girl.

Miranda sank slowly back into her seat, tearless, but shuddering as with an ague fit.  Only from her lips, with a moaning sound, a murmur came: 

“No, no, no! oh, no!”