“Prove it? I will prove it,” she cried, and at once all that was resolute in Virginia Heath’s character began to struggle to assert itself, and she went forth from her chamber, at that cry from little Virgie, with an unflinching purpose written upon her heart.

The nurse cried out in alarm as she saw her white face and sunken eyes.

“You are ill, madam,” she exclaimed.  “Go back to bed—­the baby will do well enough with me.”

“No, I am not ill,” Virgie answered, as she took her little one, but she spoke in a strained, unnatural tone, adding, “I would like you to go to Mrs. Farnum’s door and say that I desire a ‘few moments’ interview with her.”

The woman went to do her bidding, but muttered with a troubled look: 

“These English people seem to bring nothing but sorrow and mischief to the poor thing, in spite of their sweet ways and honeyed speeches; I wish they’d clear out—­and whatever her husband can mean to leave her here alone so long and not a line to tell her why is more’n I can make out.”

Mrs. Farnum obeyed Virgie’s request with some misgivings; but she saw at once upon entering the room that the young wife believed the very worst, and she was half frightened at the result of her work.

Virgie arose as she entered, her baby clasped close in her arms, and handed her the letter which she had sent her to read.

“Here is your letter, Mrs. Farnum,” she said, with a cold dignity that awed her visitor, “and you will find the note inclosed with it.  Please be particular to have it returned to the one who sent it.”

“But, my dear, will you not need it yourself?” interrupted the woman with assumed kindness.

Virgie’s lips curled.

“It was an unpardonable insult to offer it to me,” she said, with spirit.  “I cannot understand how they dared to send it to me in any such way; indeed, I cannot understand a good many things that have come to me through you.  If Sir William Heath has wilfully done me this irreparable injury he might at least have been man enough to strike the blow himself, rather than employ women to be his emissaries.”

Mrs. Farnum winced.

“Ah! but you forget—­”

“I forget nothing; do you suppose that I could?” cried Virgie, sharply, “but I might at least have been spared this last indignity—­to offer me a paltry hundred pounds when he has a fortune in his hands belonging to me.”

“A fortune!  I did not suppose—­I did not know that you had any money,” stammered Mrs. Farnum, looking blank.

“My father left me a good many thousands of dollars when he died; it was all settled upon me at the time of my marriage, but Sir William Heath took charge of it and has it now.  He deposited five thousand dollars in a bank here for my use, while he should be away, and the most of that remains; but there is much more that rightly belongs to me,” Virgie explained.