own hands, and nobody else's. If he isn't in, ask when he will be,
and, if it won't be long, wait."

Ida promised, and then, after a long gaze, her mother dropped back
again on the pillow, and turned her face away. A cough shook her for a
few moments. Ida waited.

"Well, ain't you gone?" asked Lotty faintly.

"Kiss me, mother."

They held each other in a passionate embrace, and then the child went
away.

She reached Islington without difficulty, and among the bustling and
loitering crowd which obstructs the corner at the Angel, found some one
to direct her to the street she sought. She had to walk some distance
down St. John Street Road, in the direction of the City, before
discovering the house she desired to find. When she reached it, it
proved to be a very dingy tenement, the ground-floor apparently used as
offices; a much-worn plate on the door exhibited the name of the
gentleman to whom her visit was, with his professional description
added. Mr. Woodstock was an accountant.

She rang the bell, and a girl appeared. Yes, Mr. Woodstock was at home.
Ida was told to enter the passage, and wait.

A door at her right hand as she entered was slightly ajar, and voices
could be heard from the other side of it. One of these voices very
shortly raised itself in a harsh and angry tone, and Ida could catch
what was said.

"Well, Mr. What's-your-name, I suppose I know my own business rather
better than you can teach me. It's pretty clear you've been doing your
best for some time to set the people against me, and I'm damned if I'll
have it! You go to the place on religious pretences, and what your real
object may be I don't know; but I do know one thing, and that is, I
won't have you hanging about any longer. I'll meet you there myself,
and if it's a third-floor window you get pitched out of, well, it won't
be my fault. Now I don't want any more talk with you. This is most
folks' praying-time; I wonder you're not at it. It's _my_ time for
writing letters, and I'd rather have your room than your company. I'm a
plain-spoken man, you see, a man of business, and I don't mince
matters. To come and dictate to me about the state of my houses and of
my tenants ain't a business-like proceeding, and you'll excuse me if I
don't take it kindly. There's the door, and good morning to you!"

The door opened, and a young man, looking pale and dismayed, came out
quickly, and at once left the house. Behind him came the last speaker.
At