Ellen Barclay came over the next evening according to appointment, and had an interview with Paul. She had at first been disposed to look upon him with suspicion, as likely to divert Jerry’s money from his legal heirs, but the interview dispelled all such ideas. The telegraph boy was so frank and free spoken, and showed such an interest in helping her, that she was strongly impressed in his favor. He even told her the particulars of his first encounter with her husband, and in what manner he had defeated his plan of gaining possession of Mr. Cunningham’s money.

“Yes,” said Ellen, bitterly, “he is a husband to be proud of.”

“Has he always been as bad?” asked Paul.

“Yes; I had not been married to him a month before I found out that I was wedded to a criminal. He treated me brutally, and I only breathed freely when he was away from home. Within a year from the wedding day, he was condemned to a year’s imprisonment, and at least half the time since he has been in confinement.”

“Leaving you to support yourself, I suppose?”

“Yes, I have had to support myself and the children. Even when he was a free man, he did little or nothing for the family.”

“How did you support yourself?” asked Paul.

“At first I undertook to maintain myself by the needle, but the miserable pittance I received showed me that I must try some other means of support. On inquiry I found that nothing paid as well as fine laundry work for ladies. It was a trial to my pride, for I was well brought up and educated, to take in washing for a living, but I would rather do that than see my children suffer. So I stifled my pride and became a laundress. I was fortunate in securing customers, and I have wanted for nothing, neither have my children—nothing at least that was necessary to comfort. But when my husband came home lately, and proposed to put upon me the additional burden of his support, I became discouraged.”

“I hope better days are in store for you,” said Paul.

“Not while my husband lives, and can find me out,” said Ellen Barclay, sadly.

“Do you wish me to introduce you to your husband’s father?”

“Do you think it will be best?”

“We had better try the experiment at any rate. He may die, and if he does his money ought to go to you.”

“It would be a great relief to me if my children would be provided for.”

“Follow me, then.”

Following Paul, Ellen Barclay went into the chamber occupied by old Jerry.

The old man looked up, noticing Paul only.

“Do you think I will get well, Paul?” he asked.

“Yes, Jerry, if you receive proper care, and have nourishing food.”

“But—I am so poor, Paul.”

“That is a mistake, Jerry, as you and I know.”

“Don’t let any one know of the few dollars I have, Paul.”

“I won’t let your son know; he is the only one of whom you need be afraid. Did you know he was married, and had two children?”

“I—I think he said something of it.”

“Would you like to see his wife?”

“I—I don’t know,” answered the old man, in an uncertain voice.

“This lady is your son’s wife,” said Paul, beckoning Ellen to come forward.

The old man regarded her with an uneasy look. “I hope you are not like James,” he said; “he is a bold, bad man!”

“No one knows that better than I, Mr. Barclay. It was a sad day when I married him.”

“You have found him out, too?”

“Yes, to my sorrow.”

“You won’t try to get my money?” asked Jerry, anxiously.

“No, but I should like to bring my children here to see their grandfather.”

“Are they—like him?”

“No, thank Heaven!”

“Then you may bring them.”

“I will. Can I do anything for you?”

“No, except to keep James away.”

“You have made a good impression on him,” said Paul, when they had left the room together.

“Thanks to you,” said Ellen, earnestly. “You are a good boy, and an unselfish one. Hereafter I shall trust you fully.”