Their happiness was increased by the birth of a little daughter.  The child was the idol of her father, and Penny’s life was brightened by the joys of motherhood, in spite of the persistent refusal of Stephen Dale to hold any communication with her or allow his wife to do so.

But all too soon that happiness was to be rudely shattered, and that in a way entirely unforeseen.

Like many another family on the strength of the regiment, the Spences, for lack of accommodation in barracks, were lodged in apartments in the city.  One dreary winter evening, when little Annie was about a year old, Penny sat at her knitting by the fireside, the baby in her cot close by, fast asleep.  Spence had been taking part in a concert, and was later than usual in coming in, for it was past ten o’clock.  In the silence Penny heard the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs outside; they halted at her door, and there was a gentle rapping.  She rose and opened the door in response.

On the landing without stood a woman, whom she had never before seen—­a shabby-looking woman, dressed in soiled and worn garments, which had once been bright and stylish.  Her appearance, apart from her dress, was far from attractive; her lean face had dull red blotches upon it, her eyes looked wild and shining, and her gray hair straggled out from her tawdry bonnet.  It scarcely needed the evidence of a strong smell of spirits to prove that she had been taking drink.

Penny instinctively shrank back from the threshold, but still held the door in her hand.  The woman made no attempt to enter.  Fixing her too bright eyes upon Penny’s face with a scrutinizing glance, she said in a raucous whisper: 

“I was told that Sergeant Spence was likely to be here; but it seems I’ve come to the wrong rooms.”

Penny was silent for a moment, dreading she knew not what.

“Sergeant Spence may be here any moment,” she answered, rousing herself.  She was praying that he might come quickly.

“Oh, indeed!  So he may be here any moment,” said the woman in louder tones.  “I suppose my fine fellow is courting you now,” she went on, staring boldly into Penny’s frightened face.  “Well, I’ve no fault to find with his taste.  He used to have an eye for a pretty face, and you’re a good-looking girl, though you’re but a little one.”

“What do you want with Sergeant Spence?” asked Penny, as her courage began to return.  Why should she fear this coarse, black-eyed woman.  She could have nothing in common with Arthur.  But why should she seek him thus openly in his own dwelling?  Her fears began to return.

The strange visitor advanced across the threshold; Penny retreated before her.  The color deepened in her already florid face as the woman cried fiercely: 

“What do I want with him?  I mean to force him to take me back to my rightful place, that’s what I want with him!”

Her voice, raised angrily, awoke the child, who gave a shrill cry of fright.  The woman stared at the cot in astonishment.  Penny stooped and lifted the little one, and faced the stranger once more as she pressed the child to her bosom.