f herself.

"You are a sweet-looking girl," said Moll, fixing her haggard, but yet
beautiful eyes upon the fragile form beside her. "It's a pity you must
be unhappy. Has that fellow been unkind to you?"

"What fellow madam?"

"Philip."

"He is my husband, madam," replied Miranda, mildly, but with the
slightest accent of displeasure.

"He is, eh? Hum! You love him dearly, don't you?"

Miranda blushed, and asked:

"Do you know my husband?"

"Know him! If you knew him as well, it would be better for you. You'll
know him well enough before long. You come from Virginia, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You must go back there."

"If Philip wishes it."

"I tell you, you must go at once--to-day. I will give you money, if you
have none. And you must never speak of what has happened in this house.
Do you understand me?"

"But Philip"--

"Forget Philip. You must never see him any more. Why should you want to?
Don't you know that he's a brute, and will beat you as he beat me, if
you stay with him. Why should you care about him?"

"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 we