ward, and stating the fact of the
murder, bore my late husband's real name."

"Norman was not your husband, madam," cried Paul, indignantly.

"I agree with you, sir. Lemuel Krill was my husband. I saw in the
newspapers, which penetrate even into the quiet little Hants village I
live in, that Aaron Norman had been murdered. I never thought he was
the man who had left me more than twenty years ago with an only child to
bring up. But the bills offering the reward assured me that Norman and
Krill are one and the same man. Therefore," she drew herself up and
looked piercingly at the young man, "I have come to see after the
property. I understand from the papers that my daughter is an heiress to
millions."

"Not millions," said Pash, hastily. "The newspapers have exaggerated the
amount. Five thousand a year, madam, and it is left to Sylvia."

"Who is Sylvia?" asked Mrs. Krill, in the words of Shakespeare's song.

"She is the daughter of Mr. Norman," said Paul, quickly, "and is engaged
to marry me."

Mrs. Krill's eyes travelled over his shabby suit from head to foot, and
then back again from foot to head. She glanced sideways at her
companion, and the girl laughed in a hard, contemptuous manner. "I fear
you will be disappointed in losing a rich wife, sir," said the elder
woman, sweetly.

"I have not lost the money yet," replied Paul, hotly. "Not that I care
for the money."

"Of course not," put in Mrs. Krill, ironically, with another look at his
dress.

"But I _do_ care for Sylvia Norman--"

"With whom I have nothing to do."

"She is your husband's daughter."

"But not mine. This is my daughter, Maud--the legal daughter of Lemuel
and myself," she added meaningly.

"Good heavens, madam," cried Beecot, his face turning white, "what do
you mean?"

Mrs. Krill raised her thick white eyebrows, and shrugged her plump
shoulders, and made a graceful motion with her white, be-ringed hand.
"Is there any need for me to explain?" she said calmly.

"I think there is every need," cried Beecot, sharply. "I shall not allow
Miss Norman to lose her fortune or--"

"Or lose it yourself, sir. I quite understand. Nevertheless, I am
assured that the law of the land will protect, through me, my daughter's
rights. She leaves it in my hands."

"Yes," said the girl, in a voice as full and rich and soft as her
smooth-faced mother, "I leave it in her hands."

Paul sat down and concealed his face with a groan. He was thinking not
so