to the driver, "I will carry her in as she is."

Greeting the light at the opened door which was held by Polly's mother,
Polly's bearer passed on with mother and child into a ground-floor room.
There, stretched on a sofa, lay a sick man, sorely wasted, who covered
his eyes with his emaciated hands.

"Tresham," said Barbox, in a kindly voice, "I have brought you back your
Polly, fast asleep. Give me your hand, and tell me you are better."

The sick man reached forth his right hand, and bowed his head over the
hand into which it was taken and kissed it. "Thank you, thank you! I
may say that I am well and happy."

"That's brave," said Barbox. "Tresham, I have a fancy--can you make room
for me beside you here?"

He sat down on the sofa as he said words, cherishing the plump peachy
cheek that lay uppermost on his shoulder.

"I have a fancy, Tresham (I am getting quite an old fellow now, you know,
and old fellows may take fancies into their heads sometimes), to give up
Polly, having found her, to no one but you. Will you take her from me?"

As the father held out his arms for the child, each of the two men looked
steadily at the other.

"She is very dear to you, Tresham?"

"Unutterably dear."

"God bless her! It is not much, Polly," he continued, turning his eyes
upon her peaceful face as he apostrophised her, "it is not much, Polly,
for a blind and sinful man to invoke a blessing on something so far
better than himself as a little child is; but it would be much--much upon
his cruel head, and much upon his guilty soul--if he could be so wicked
as to invoke a curse. He had better have a millstone round his neck, and
be cast into the deepest sea. Live and thrive, my pretty baby!" Here he
kissed her. "Live and prosper, and become in time the mother of other
little children, like the Angels who behold The Father's face!"

He kissed her again, gave her up gently to both her parents, and went
out.

But he went not to Wales. No, he never went to Wales. He went
straightway for another stroll about the town, and he looked in upon the
people at their work, and at their play, here, there, everywhere, and
where not. For he was Barbox Brothers and Co. now, and had taken
thousands of partners into the solitary firm.

He had at length got back to his hotel room, and was standing before his
fire refreshing himself with a glass of hot drink which he had stood upon
the chimney-piece, when he heard the town clocks st