brought about. He refused to take the baths which Mrs
Clinton prepared for him. He was more silent than ever, but when he
spoke it was in biblical language; and always hovered on his lips the
enigmatical smile, and his eyes always had the strange, disconcerting
look. Mrs Clinton perseveringly made him take his medicine, but she lost
faith in its power when, one night at twelve, Mr Clinton brought home
with him a very dirty, ragged man, who looked half-starved and smelt
distinctly alcoholic.

'Jim,' she said, on seeing the miserable object slinking in behind her
husband, 'Jim, what's that?'

'That, Amy? That is your brother!'

'My brother? What d'you mean?' cried Mrs Clinton, firing up. 'That's no
brother of mine. I 'aven't got a brother.'

'It's your brother and my brother. Be good to him.'

'I tell you it isn't my brother,' repeated Mrs Clinton; 'my brother
Adolphus died when he was two years old, and that's the only brother I
ever 'ad.'

Mr Clinton merely looked at her with his usual gentle expression, and
she asked angrily,--

'What 'ave you brought 'im 'ere for?'

''E is 'ungry, and I am going to give 'im food; 'e is 'omeless, and I am
going to give 'im shelter.'

'Shelter? Where?'

'Here, in my 'ouse, in my bed.'

'In my bed!' screamed Mrs Clinton. 'Not if I know it! 'Ere, you,' she
said, addressing the man, and pushing past her husband. 'Out you get!
I'm not going to 'ave tramps and loafers in my 'ouse. Get out!' Mrs
Clinton was an energetic woman, and a strong one. Catching hold of her
husband's stick, and flourishing it, she opened the front door.

'Amy! Amy!' expostulated Mr Clinton.

'Now, then, you be quiet. I've 'ad about enough of you! Get on out, will
you?'

The man made a rush for the door, and as he scrambled down the steps she
caught him a smart blow on the back, and slammed the door behind him.
Then, returning to the sitting-room, she sank panting on a chair. Mr
Clinton slowly recovered from his surprise.

'Woman,' he said, this being now his usual mode of address--he spoke
solemnly and sadly--'you 'ave cast out your brother, you 'ave cast out
your husband, you 'ave cast out yourself.'

'Don't talk to me!' said Mrs Clinton, very wrathfully. 'It's bed time
now; come along upstairs.'

'I will not come to your bed again. You 'ave refused it to one who was
better than I; and why should I 'ave it? Go, woman; go and leave me.'

'Now, then, don't come trying your airs on me,' said Mrs