er laugh, striking his
puny chest savagely. "What am I worth, Deb? Is it my fault that I am no
better? My fault? My fault?"

He stopped, stung with a sudden remorse, seeing her hunchback shape
writhing with sobs. For Deborah was crying thankless tears, according to
the fashion of women.

"God forgi' me, woman! Things go harder wi' you nor me. It's a worse
share."

He got up and helped her to rise; and they went doggedly down the muddy
street, side by side.

"It's all wrong," he muttered, slowly,--"all wrong! I dunnot
understan'. But it'll end some day."

"Come home, Hugh!" she said, coaxingly; for he had stopped, looking
around bewildered.

"Home,--and back to the mill!" He went on saying this over to himself,
as if he would mutter down every pain in this dull despair.

She followed him through the fog, her blue lips chattering with cold.
They reached the cellar at last. Old Wolfe had been drinking since she
went out, and had crept nearer the door. The girl Janey slept heavily In
the corner. He went up to her, touching softly the worn white arm with
his fingers. Some bitterer thought stung him, as he stood there. He
wiped the drops from his forehead, and went into the room beyond, livid,
trembling. A hope, trifling, perhaps, but very dear, had died just then
out of the poor puddler's life, as he looked at the sleeping, innocent
girl,--some plan for the future, in which she had borne a part. He gave
it up that moment, then and forever. Only a trifle, perhaps, to us: his
face grew a shade paler,--that was all. But, somehow, the man's soul, as
God and the angels looked down on it, never was the same afterwards.

Deborah followed him into the inner room. She carried a candle, which
she placed on the floor, dosing the door after her. She had seen the
look on his face, as he turned away: her own grew deadly. Yet, as she
came up to him, her eyes glowed. He was seated on an old chest, quiet,
holding his face in his hands.

"Hugh!" she said, softly.

He did not speak.

"Hugh, did hur hear what the man said,--him with the clear voice? Did
hur hear? Money, money,--that it wud do all?"

He pushed her away,--gently, but he was worn out; her rasping tone
fretted him.

"Hugh!"

The candle flared a pale yellow light over the cobwebbed brick walls,
and the woman standing there. He looked at her. She was young, in deadly
earnest; her faded eyes, and wet, ragged figure caught from their
frantic eagerness a power akin t