aid he.

"But my father will come for us soon, won't he, Nick?" faltered Cicely.

"Eigh! just don't he wish that he might!" laughed Goole.

"Oh, ay," said she, and nodded bravely to herself; "he may be very busy
now, and so he cannot come. But presently he will come for me and fetch
me home again." She gave a joyous little skip. "To fetch me home
again--ay, surely, my father will come for me anon."

A lump came up in Nick Attwood's throat. "But what hath he done to thee,
Cicely, and where is thy pretty gown?" he asked, as they hurried on
through the crooked way; for the gown she wore was in rags.

Cicely choked down a sob. "He hath kept me locked up in a horrible
place, where an old witch came in the night and stole my clothes away.
And he says that if money doth not come for me soon he will turn me out
to starve."

"To starve? Nay, Cicely; I will na leave thee starve. I'll go with thee
wherever he taketh thee; I'll fend for thee with all my might and main,
and none shall harm thee if I can help. So cheer up--we will get away!
Thou needst na gripe me so, thou rogue; I am going wherever she goes."

"I'll see that ye do," growled the bandy-legged man. "But take the other
hand of her, thou jackanapes, and fetch a better pace than this--I'll
not be followed again."

His tone was bold, but his eyes were not; for they were faring through
the slums toward Whitechapel way, and the hungry crowd eyed Nick's silk
cloak greedily. One burly rascal with a scar across his face turned back
and snatched at it. For his own safety's sake, the bandy-legged man
struck up into a better thoroughfare, where he skulked along like a fox
overtaken by dawn, fearing to meet some dog he knew.

"Oh, Gregory, go slow!" pleaded Cicely, panting for breath, and
stumbling over the cobblestones. Goole's only answer was a scowl. Nick
trotted on sturdily, holding her hand, and butting his shoulder against
the crowd so that she might not be jostled; for the press grew thick and
thicker as they went. All London was a-Maying, and the foreigners from
Soho, too. Up in the belfries, as they passed, the bells were clanging
until the whole town rang like a smithy on the eve of war, for madcap
apprentices had the ropes, and were ringing for exercise.

Thicker and thicker grew the throng, as though the sea were sweeping
through the town. Then, at the corner of Mincing Lane, where the
cloth-workers' shops were thick, all at once there came an uproarious
din