ivorced wife.

"And now, madam," said a calm, low voice behind her, as she finished
speaking, "since you are so good at relating other people's histories,
suppose you give these worthy persons, a similar account of your own
proceedings and peregrinations?"

It was none other than Ulrica Hardyng, who stood before her in _propria
personae_. She had, in pursuance of a resolution made some weeks before,
determined to be present, although uninvited, at this meeting, and
justify her friend before her numerous assailants.

"_You_ here?" articulated the woman, guiltily, as she gazed fearfully at
the stern, set face before her.

"Yes, I am here," was the reply, in a voice that trembled with outraged
feeling, despite the powerful effort for self-control; "to prove that I
know you at last, as the woman who won my husband from me.

"Good people," she said, turning to the astonished and abashed
spectators, "this woman has told you the truth, mainly, concerning me,
at least; but with one reservation. She is the daughter of this Mrs.
Bailey, whom she represented as a servant, and the cast-off mistress of
the Geoffrey Westbourne who was once my husband."

A denial trembled upon the lips of the woman, who shrank away in abject
terror, but her voice failed her. The impassible face that looked down
upon her seemed the very personification of unrelenting justice.

"Woman," she said coldly, "your sin has found you out."

The groveling figure suddenly erected itself with a defiant gesture.
"Well, and what of that?" rising, and looking boldly around. "It must
have happened some time or other, and I'm sick of this whining
hypocrisy. I had rather go back to the old life again, where there is no
restraint. But I am as good as the rest, I tell you, Ulrica Hardyng.
These women, who profess Christianity, have deliberately robbed a poor,
innocent, unoffending girl of her reputation, because they were jealous
of her youth and fair looks, and mental superiority. Besides that, a
dozen or more of these pious ladies were in love with the man who wanted
to marry her, in the face of them all, and who was cooly rejected. I
would have defended the poor thing myself, but _you_ had to take up on
her side, and then, because the friend of one I hate can only be my
enemy, I sought to drag her down to my own level."

"And you put the finishing stroke to your malicious efforts," said that
lady, "to-day by a tissue of falsehoods against her. At present I sh