Up to this time, not a word had come from her husband, and she
had not been able to pay Mrs. Darlington a single dollar.

Painfully did she feel her dependent situation, although she was
treated with the utmost delicacy and consideration. But all the widow's
means were now exhausted in the payment of the second quarter's rent,
and she found her weekly income reduced to thirty-five dollars,
scarcely sufficient to meet the weekly expense for supplying the table,
paying the servants, etc., leaving nothing for future rent bills, the
cost of clothing, and education for the younger children. With all
this, Mrs. Darlington's duties had been growing daily more and more
severe. Nothing could be trusted to servants that was not, in some way,
defectively done, causing repeated complaints from the boarders. What
proved most annoying was the bad cooking, to remedy which Mrs.
Darlington strove in vain. One day the coffee was not fit to drink, and
on the next day the steak would be burnt or broiled as dry as a chip,
or the sirloin roasted until every particle of juice had evaporated. If
hot cakes were ordered for breakfast, ten chances to one that they were
not sour; or, if rolls were baked, they would, most likely, be as heavy
as lead.

Such mishaps were so frequent, that the guests of Mrs. Darlington
became impatient, and Mr. Scragg, in particular, never let an occasion
for grumbling or insolence pass without fully improving it.

"Is your coal out?" said he, one morning, about this time, as he sat at
the breakfast table.

Mrs. Darlington understood, by the man's tone and manner, that he meant
to be rude, though she did not comprehend the meaning of the question.

"No, sir," she replied, with some dignity of manner. "Why do you ask?"

"It struck me," he answered, "that such might be the case. But,
perhaps, cook is too lazy to bring it out of the cellar. If she'll send
for me to-morrow morning, I'll bring her up an extra scuttleful, as I
particularly like a good cup of hot coffee."

His meaning was now plain. Quick as thought, the blood rushed to the
face of Mrs. Darlington.

She had borne so much from this man, and felt towards him such utter
disgust, that she could forbear no longer.

"Mr. Scragg," said she, with marked indignation, "when a gentleman has
any complaint to make, he does it as a gentleman."

"Madam!" exclaimed Scragg, with a threat in his voice, while his coarse
face became red with anger.

"When a _gentle