When a soft woman, and that soft woman a sinner, is matched with a woman of energy, she does not show much fight, and she meets no mercy.  Bessy Berry’s creditor came to her in female form that night.  She then beheld it in all its terrors.  Hitherto it had appeared to her as a male, a disembodied spirit of her imagination possessing male attributes, and the peculiar male characteristic of being moved, and ultimately silenced, by tears.  As female, her creditor was terrible indeed.  Still, had it not been a late hour, Bessy Berry would have died rather than speak openly that her babes had sped to make their nest in the Isle of Wight.  They had a long start, they were out of the reach of pursuers, they were safe, and she told what she had to tell.  She told more than was wise of her to tell.  She made mention of her early service in the family, and of her little pension.  Alas! her little pension!  Her creditor had come expecting no payment—­come; as creditors are wont in such moods, just to take it out of her—­to employ the familiar term.  At once Mrs. Doria pounced upon the pension.

“That, of course, you know is at an end,” she said in the calmest manner, and Berry did not plead for the little bit of bread to her.  She only asked a little consideration for her feelings.

True admirers of women had better stand aside from the scene.  Undoubtedly it was very sad for Adrian to be compelled to witness it.  Mrs. Doria was not generous.  The Pilgrim may be wrong about the sex not growing; but its fashion of conducting warfare we must allow to be barbarous, and according to what is deemed the pristine, or wild cat, method.  Ruin, nothing short of it, accompanied poor Berry to her bed that night, and her character bled till morning on her pillow.

The scene over, Adrian reconducted Mrs. Doria to her home.  Mice had been at the cake during her absence apparently.  The ladies and gentlemen present put it on the greedy mice, who were accused of having gorged and gone to bed.

“I’m sure they’re quite welcome,” said Mrs. Doria.  “It’s a farce, this marriage, and Adrian has quite come to my way of thinking.  I would not touch an atom of it.  Why, they were married in a married woman’s ring!  Can that be legal, as you call it?  Oh, I’m convinced!  Don’t tell me.  Austin will be in town to-morrow, and if he is true to his principles, he will instantly adopt measures to rescue his son from infamy.  I want no legal advice.  I go upon common sense, common decency.  This marriage is false.”

Mrs. Doria’s fine scheme had become so much a part of her life, that she could not give it up.  She took Clare to her bed, and caressed and wept over her, as she would not have done had she known the singular child, saying, “Poor Richard! my dear poor boy! we must save him, Clare! we must save him!” Of the two the mother showed the greater want of iron on this occasion.  Clare lay in her arms rigid and emotionless, with one of her hands tight-locked.  All she said was:  “I knew it in the morning, mama.”  She slept clasping Richard’s nuptial ring.