“I am going to leave your house,” replied Mrs. Lane, in as firm a voice as she could command.  As she spoke she drew forth her purse, and taking out the solitary dollar it contained, added—­“Unfortunately, this is all the money I have with me, but I will send you the other half-dollar.”

But the landlady refused to take the proffered money, and replied, indignantly,

“A purty how d’you do, indeed, to come into a genteel body’s house, and then expect to get off without paying your bill.  But ye don’t know Biddy McGinnis—­ye don’t!  If yees wants to go paceable, pay the dollar and a half.  But until this is done, ye shall not cross my door-stone.”

“I can’t stay here!  What good will it do?” said Mrs. Lane, wringing her hand.  “It’s all the money I’ve got; and remaining won’t increase the sum, while it adds to the debt.  Better let me go now.”

“Indade, and ye’ll not go, thin, my lady!  I’ll tache yees to come into a respectable body’s house without as much money in yer pocket as ’ll pay for the night’s lodging.  I wonder who ye are, any how!  No better than ye should be, I’ll warrint!”

While speaking, the Irishwoman had drawn nearer and nearer, and now stood with her face only a few inches from that of her distressed guest, who, bursting into tears, clasped her hands together, and sobbed—­

“Let me go! let me go!  If you have the heart of a woman, let me go!”

“Heart of a woman, indade!” returned Mrs. McGinnis, indignantly.  “Yer a purty one to talk to me about the heart of a woman.  Stalein into a body’s house at twelve o’clock at night, and thin tryin’ to go off without paying for the lodgings and breakfast.  Purty doings!”

“What’s the matter here?” said a well dressed man, stepping in from the bar-room and closing the door behind him.  “What do you mean by talking to the lady in this way, Mrs. McGinnis?  I’ve been listening to you.”

There was an instant change in the Irishwoman.  Her countenance fell, and she retreated a few steps from the object of her vituperation.

“What’s all this about?  I should like to know,” added the man in a decided way.  “Will you explain, madam?” addressing Mrs. Lane, in a kind voice.  “But you are agitated.  Sit down and compose yourself.”

“Let her pay me my money, that’s all I want,” muttered the landlady.

In a moment the man’s purse was drawn from his pocket.  “What does she owe you?”

“A dollar and a half, bad luck till her!”

“There’s your money, you old termagant!” And the man handed her the amount.  “And now, as you are paid, and have nothing more to say to this lady, please to retire and let her be freed from your presence.”

“Yees needint call me ill names, Misther Bond,” said the woman, in a subdued voice, as she retired.  “It doesn’t become a jentilman like you.  I didn’t mane any harm.  I only wanted my own, and sure I’ve a right to that.”