Some three hours after Gerald's departure from the house, Emilia was summoned into the presence of Mrs. Seaton. When she received the message she was preparing for bed; it was night, and a heavy rain was falling.

"I have sent for you," said Mrs. Seaton, gazing at the young girl with pitiless eyes, "for the purpose of putting an immediate end to a disgraceful state of affairs. On the day I consented to take you upon trial, I informed you that I could give you no wages until I was satisfied that you would suit me. Is that correct?"

"You said," replied Emilia, "that you could give me none for the first month, and that, if we suited each other, you would arrange terms afterward."

"You have been here nearly seven weeks, and no terms have been arranged."

"That is true, madam."

"The fact being that we do not suit each other."

"I fear it is so."

"In which case--the basis of any terms whatever being suitability--no wages are due to you up to this date. Legally you are entitled to nothing."

"You know best, madam."

"I have allowed you to remain in my house in the hope that certain doubts I entertained would be dispelled. I regret to say they are not dispelled. However, I shall not charge you for your board and lodging."

Emilia bowed her head. Utterly inexperienced as she was, she had not the least doubt that Mrs. Seaton was putting the case fairly, and that she could really be called upon to pay for the food and shelter she had received.

"Ordinarily," continued Mrs. Seaton, "one would expect gratitude for such kindness. I do not. Be kind enough to sign this paper."

Upon the table lay a written document which, with Emilia's signature to it, would free Mrs. Seaton from any possible liability. In the last sentence of the artfully-worded release, Emilia acknowledged that she left Mrs. Seaton's house and service of her own accord. The young girl took the pen which Mrs. Seaton held out to her, and was about to sign when the elder lady said,

"I wish you to read and understand what you are signing. I shall not put it in your power to say that I took advantage of your youth and inexperience--for that is the way you would put it, I expect."

Emilia's eyes were blurred with tears, and although she took the paper in her trembling hands, she could not read what was written thereon.

"It is perfectly correct, is it not?" asked Mrs. Seaton.

"Yes, madam," replied Emilia, faintly, glad of the opportunity of hiding her distress of mind, "if you say it is."

"Of course. You will observe that it places you in an unexpectedly favorable position. Leaving my service of your own accord will make it easier for you to obtain another situation, if such should be your desire. Wait a moment. I should like your signature to be witnessed."

She rang the bell, and a maid appeared, a new servant who had arrived only that evening.

"I rang for you, Jane, to witness Miss Braham's signature to this paper. You can write?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am."

"Miss Braham has read the document, and perfectly understands its terms. That is the truth, is it not, Miss Braham?"

"Yes, madam," said the helpless girl.

"You hear, Jane? Now, Miss Braham, you can sign it if you wish."

Emilia wrote her name, and Jane wrote hers as witness, proud of the confidence reposed in her. Then Mrs. Seaton gave the new servant some whispered instructions, and she left the room.

Had Emilia's agitation allowed her, she could not have failed to notice that while Jane was in the room Mrs. Seaton's voice was kind and considerate, in striking contrast to the tone in which she spoke when they were alone.

"And now, Miss Braham," said Mrs. Seaton, folding up the paper and pocketing it with an air of triumph, "you will leave my house at once."

"At once, madam!" exclaimed the bewildered girl.

"This instant. I will not allow you to remain in it another hour. As the mother of a family I have a duty to perform. Your presence here is a contamination."

"I will not answer your insults, madam," faltered Emilia, "but it is night and rain is falling----"

"That is not my affair. You are well known, and can easily find lodgement with some of your friends----"

"I have none. You surely cannot be so cruel as to drive me away at such an hour."

"I am prepared for anything you may say. The paper you have signed fully protects me from any base statements you may make when you are no longer under my roof. You have no friends? Why, there is Mr. Paget. Do you think I have been blind to your goings on? Assignations, secret meetings, under my very eyes. Go to him. I have no doubt you know where to find him."

"Madam!"

"Oh, you may madam me as much as you like; it will not alter my determination. Ah, Jane"--to the new servant who entered the room--"have you locked the door of the room which Miss Braham occupied?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And brought her box down?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Give me the key of the room. That will do, my good girl; I do not require you any more. Go down-stairs and get your supper. Leave the door open." The merciless woman waited until Jane had reached the basement and was out of hearing; then she spoke again. "If you cannot take your box with you to-night, you can send for it in the morning, but once out of my house you do not enter it again. Go immediately, or I will send for the police."

She advanced toward Emilia, who retreated in affright; step by step she hounded the poor girl to the street door, which she threw open. The next moment Emilia was standing alone in the dark and gloomy night.

Dazed and horrified, she felt as if her senses were leaving her; she pressed her hands over her eyes, and cowered to the walls for protection. But a friend was near.

Restless with love's fever, Gerald, heedless of the rain--for what is so slight a thing to one who loves as he did?--was hovering about the house in which his darling lived. He looked up at the windows, and choosing one as the window of Emilia's room, gazed at it with fervor, making of it a very heaven--a heaven to be glorified by her presence. "To-morrow," he mused, as he paced slowly up and down on the opposite side, "I will ask her plainly to be my wife. She is unhappy--she told me so--and it must be because she is living with such a wicked woman. Yes, I will ask her to-morrow. She loves me, I am sure of it. It is only that she is poor and I am rich. What of that? It will make it all the better for us--a thousand times better than if she were rich and I were poor. Then we might never come together. Dear Emilia, sweet Emilia, the sweetest, dearest, most beautiful on earth! I love her, I love her, I love her!"

Thus ecstatically musing, he saw the street-door suddenly opened and as suddenly and violently shut, and a figure thrust forth, as if in anger. He had no idea that it was Emilia; the thought was too barbarous to be entertained; but out of curiosity he crossed the road and went up to it.

"Good God!" he cried; "Emilia!" and caught her up in his arms.

"Oh, Gerald, Gerald!" she sobbed, and lay there, helpless and almost heartbroken, and yet with a sweet sense of comfort stealing upon her great grief.

What mattered rain and darkness? She had called him Gerald, and he knew for a surety that he was loved. He kissed her, and she did not resist, but lay, sobbing more quietly now, within the sanctuary of his loving arms.

Ecstasy at being permitted to embrace her enthralled him for a time, but presently he begged her to explain the meaning of her being thrust at such an hour from Mrs. Seaton's house. Before she could render it the street-door was opened quietly and slowly, and a woman's face peered out--Mrs. Seaton's.

"I thought as much," cried the stony-hearted woman, with a laugh. "A pretty pair!" and then the door was closed again, and only the sound of the falling rain was heard.

With a feeling of burning indignation Gerald looked down upon the white face of his dear girl. Her eyes were closed; her arms hung loose at her side; she had fainted.

He was thankful that the street was deserted and that there were no witnesses near, for he had sense enough to know that Emilia's reputation was at stake.

"You fiend," he muttered, with a dark glance at Mrs. Seaton's house. "You abominable fiend!" And then he called softly, "Emilia, Emilia! Look up, my darling. We are safe now, and we will never part."

His voice, but not the words he spoke, reached her senses. She opened her eyes, and clung more closely to him, murmuring,

"For Heaven's sake, take me from this place."

"Come, then," he said, supporting her. It was not until they had traversed two or three streets that Gerald began to feel perplexed. Where should he take her? He had no lady friend to whom he could apply and who would be willing to receive Emilia. It would be dangerous to her character to go to an hotel. The hour, the circumstances, Emilia's agitated state, were all against them. She was too weak to speak for herself; upon him devolved the responsibility of providing for her, of protecting her, and he was conscious that anything he might say to strangers would do her more harm than good. There was already a danger that she was being compromised. Some persons had passed them in the streets, and dark as was the night, they could scarcely fail to see that his arm was round her waist and that she was clinging to him. Now and then sobs escaped from her overcharged heart. A few of the people they met turned and looked after them, and Gerald heard ............