manufacture of the poison which we have selected as the best for our purpose."
"It is the wourali," interrupted the blue-stocking.
"It is not," proceeded Catherine. "It is better still, more subtle, though not so rapid in its effects. When an animal is wounded with an arrow that has been dipped in this, it does not die at once; indeed, for a couple of days or so no effects seem to be experienced; then constitutional but not local derangement is set up; the wound heals readily, but a gradual painless decay commences; the appetite is lost; the creature wastes and weakens into death, which generally takes place within a month of the innoculation.
"We are now satisfied that no test known to modern science can detect the presence of this poison. For our purpose it can be injected into the arm, with a hypodermic syringe, or even dropped on any delicate mucous membrane. We have experimented on it in every way, and are more than satisfied with the result."
"Ah!" chuckled the wizened blue-stocking, as she took off and wiped her spectacles, "I can picture to myself the doctors puzzling over these strange patients. They will shake their heads, mutter 'marasmus,' and be at a total loss to explain such rapid decline. There will be long articles in the Lancet on the subject of this new disease—this deadly children's plague. It will be very interesting to read their theories about it."
"The game will soon begin," said Susan Riley, "and then woe to the tyrants!"
"Woe to them!" repeated the sisters in a low chorus, which brought a smile to the beautiful wicked face of the young mother.
After a pause sister Eliza spoke:
"You yourself have no pupils at present, sister Catherine; have you found a new one yet? You told me the other day you were looking for one."
"Not yet," Catherine replied. "I have not come across the sort of girl I want in London. I wish to find a young girl whom I can educate for our work from the very beginning. I am going to the North to-morrow, to my own country, for a week, I have an idea that though I have failed in London I shall succeed there. It may be a foolish fancy, but I think something will come of it. The temper of our Northern people is better adapted for this work than that of the flighty Southerners. But now I must show you the results of my last experiment."
She went out and returned with a little dog in her arms. So emaciated was it, so weak that one would have imagined that only a long period of starvation could have reduced it to this condition.
It kept its eyes closed, save for an occasional lack-lustre glimmer through half-shut lids. It was too weak to move a limb, but it was patient, evidently not suffering, and it attempted to lick its mistress's hand as she brought it carefully in.
Said Catherine King, "Three weeks ago I injected one minim of this," showing a flask of straw-coloured fluid which she held in her hand, "into this animal's leg. Its appetite fell away. It wasted gradually, till it has come to what you see. For three days it has refused all nourishment, and even within a few hours I expect—"
As she spoke the little dog opened its eyes, gave one last affectionate look at its mistress, and with a low whine stretched out its legs and was dead.
"Woe to the oppressors!" whispered the blue-stocking.
"Woe to the oppressors!" again muttered the sisters in chorus.
"Poor Toby!" said Catherine King after a pause. The sudden death of her old pet, for such the dog had been, had startled her into a slight passing emotion.
Two of the sisters observed this emotion—the faithful Eliza, who looked sympathetic, and Susan Riley, on whose face a sneering smile sat for a moment.
The blue-stocking of course noticed nothing, but continued her employment of examining and smelling at the poison bottle with her thin scientific nose.
CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST DAY OF LIBERTY.
It was so lovely a summer morning that even the dreary Brixton street looked almost cheerful. So bright a blue sky was overhead, so glorious was the sunlight, that the bushes and flowers in the make-believe gardens in front of each house were fair to the eye as if they had been growing in the pure atmosphere of some far country side.
The smuts that covered them were not apparent under this flood of light, and their foliage waved merrily when the gusts of the fresh breeze passed them. It was the South West wind that was blowing, that most blessed visitant of our isles, spite of its blusterous ways—the sweet wind from over the seas that stirs the blood to the quick flow of joyous youth again, and makes one to dance and laugh for very delight of life. How, when the South Wester sweeps through the skies, even close London feels its spell! it rushes down the innermost slums, drives back the foul vapours, till the air is almost as that over the mid-ocean, and has a taste of the salt in it, bringing colour to the cheeks of pallid children of the alleys, and jollity to all who are still susceptible to it.
"Mary, I expect an important letter to arrive here by next post for me. I must have it as soon as possible. Hurry off with it the moment it comes. Here is your fare. Take train to Ludgate Hill and bring it to me at the office. Don't loiter mind; bring it at once."
It was Mr. Grimm who spoke as he took up his hat and umbrella after breakfast, preparatory to going city-wards.
"All right, father," replied Mary, as she removed the breakfast things, and the next minute the little lawyer was out of the house and the door slammed behind him—off to his pettifogging, lying, and cheating in his offices, which were in a narrow street off the Ludgate Hill end of Fleet Street.
Mary continued to remove the cups, saucers, and plates, in a rather nonchalant manner.
The stout red-faced second wife of Grimm sat in the arm-chair eyeing her not over kindly for a minute or so, and then in a harsh voice addressed the girl:
"You minx! you minx!" working herself up into a passion; "you do it on purpose to aggravate me, I know you do."
"Do what?" asked Mary, calmly.
"I've been watching you these ten minutes—dawdling, dawdling, dawdling, as slow as you can; that's what it is. Hurry up now over those things. What do I give you your food for, and your clothes too, do you think? To work: and work for your living you shall as sure as my name's Grimm. Hurry up; don't stand there like a stuck pig, with your sulky putty face. Do you hear?"
This was a long speech for Mrs. Grimm, and she halted for breath and further inspiration.
Not a muscle of Mary's face moved, but she did hurry up a little; only for a few seconds though, when, altering her mind, she stopped suddenly in her work and said in a deliberate voice:
"I suppose you think I ought to be very grateful to you, don't you?"
"What! grateful, grateful!" ejaculated the angry woman, almost too surprised at this exhibition of spirit to talk distinctly. "What on earth do you mean, you little—you little—"
But
