And then, after a time, two ruffians, worse looking than any of the others, began to come there, of whom the one she dreaded most was called Maitland.
He was always very civil to her; but there was something about him, his lowering, evil face, and wild looks, which made him a living nightmare to her.

She knew he was flying from justice, by the way he came and went, and by the precaution always taken when he was there.

But when he came to live in the room over theirs, and when, by listening at odd times, she found that he and her husband were engaged in some great villany, the nature of which she could not understand, then she saw that there was nothing to do, but in sheer desperation to sit down and wait the catastrophe.
About this time she made another discovery, that she was penniless, and had been so some time.

George had given her money from time to time to carry on household expenses, and she contrived to make these sums answer well enough.

But one day, determined to know the worst, she asked him, at the risk of another explosion, how their account stood at the bank?
He replied in the best of his humours, apparently, "that the five thousand they had had there had been overdrawn some six weeks, and that, if it hadn't been for his exertions in various ways, she'd have been starved out before now." "All gone!" she said; "and where to ?" "To the devil," he answered.