ittle life left in her.
Then she moved back slowly, groping with her hands like one in the
dark--back, till she touched the wall of the room Against this she
leaned, trembling violently; not speaking a word; her wild eyes staring
panic-stricken on the man who was confronting her.

He sat down unbidden, and asked if she did not remember him. No answer
was given; no movement made that might serve instead of an answer. He
asked again; a little impatiently this time. She nodded her head and
stared at him--still speechless, still trembling.

He told her what he had heard at the shop; and using the shopman's
phrases, asked whether it was true that the daughter of old Mr. Grice,
who was the cause of all the scandal in the family, had died long since,
away from her home, and in a miserable way?

There was something in his look, as he spoke, which seemed to oblige her
to answer against her will. She said Yes; and trembled more violently
than ever.

He clasped his hands together; his head drooped a little; dark shadows
seemed to move over his bent face; and the scars of the old wounds
deepened to a livid violet hue.

His silence and hesitation seemed to inspire Joanna Grice with sudden
confidence and courage. She moved a little away from the wall, and a
gleam of triumph lightened over her face, as she reiterated her last
answer of her own accord. "Yes! the wretch who ruined the good name
of the family _was_ dead--dead, and buried far off, in some grave by
herself--not there, in the churchyard with her father and mother--no,
thank God, not there!"

He looked up at her instantly, when she said those words, There was
some warning influence in his eye, as it rested on her, which sent her
cowering back again to her former place against the wall. Mentioning
the name for the first time, he asked sternly where Mary was buried. The
reply--doled out doggedly and slowly, forced from her word by word--was,
that Mary was buried among strangers, as she deserved to be--at a place
called Bangbury--far away in the next county, where she died, and where
money was sent to bury her.

His manner became less roughly imperative; his eyes softened; his voice
saddened in tone, when he spoke again. And yet, the next question that
he put to Joanna Grice seemed to pierce her to the quick, to try her
to the heart, as no questioning had tried her before. The muscles were
writhing on her haggard face, her breath burst from her in quick, fierce
panting