that beggared her and myself. Then, when I could no longer endure the presence of the robber and his accomplice, and live, I was doubly, yes, trebly robbed, by being deprived of my children."
The Squire cleared his throat and spoke huskily.
"That will was a sad mistake of your father's, Sally. He should have left his property to your mother. It was wrong to put her means of livelihood in jeopardy by leaving all to you. He ought to have known you'd marry, and that the property would accrue to your husband."
"But mother insisted that all should be left to me. She even waived her right of dower, in my interest — as she thought."
"Well, Sally, you can't say that I didn't warn you."
The woman laughed hysterically. "Much good that warning can do me now!" she cried, rising to her feet and unconsciously assuming a dramatic pose. "We hadn't been married a week when he ordered my mother out of my house. And then he installed his own mother in my home, and expected me to be silent. Oh, I am so glad my dear mother is dead! I would rejoice if my poor, defrauded children were all dead also."
The Squire cleared his throat again and leaned forward on his hands. "The law recognizes the husband and wife as one, and the husband as that one, Mrs. O'Dowd."
"Yes, yes, I know that, to my bitter sorrow," she said with a meaning smile, her white teeth shining through her parted lips and her eyes flashing. The woman sank upon the hearth, looking strangely white and calm.
John Ranger sighed helplessly. "I worked the underground railroad last night for all it was worth, in the interest of some runaway niggers," he said under his breath; then audibly, "The laws of the land must be obeyed, my child."
"The law is a fiend," cried Jean, who had entered the
