clined to think that the old woman was playing him a trick.

"Did Mr. Frettlby know Sal was his child?" he asked.

"Not 'e," snarled Mother Guttersnipe, in an exultant tone. "'E thought
she was dead, 'e did, arter Rosanner gave him the go-by."

"And why did you not tell him?"

"'Cause I wanted to break 'is 'eart, if 'e 'ad any," said the old
beldame, vindictively. "Sal was a-goin' wrong as fast as she could till
she was tuk from me. If she had gone and got into quod I'd 'ave gone to
'im, and said, 'Look at yer darter! 'Ow I've ruined her as you did
mine.'"

"You wicked woman," said Calton, revolted at the malignity of the
scheme. "You sacrificed an innocent girl for this."

"None of yer preachin'," retorted the hag sullenly; "I ain't bin
brought up for a saint, I ain't--an' I wanted to pay 'im out--'e paid
me well to 'old my tongue about my darter, an' I've got it 'ere,"
laying her hand on the pillow, "all gold, good gold--an' mine, cuss me."

Calton rose, he felt quite sick at this exhibition of human depravity,
and longed to be away. As he was putting on his hat, however, the two
girls entered with the doctor, who nodded to Kilsip, cast a sharp
scrutinising glance at Calton, and then walked over to the bed. The two
girls went back to their corner, and waited in silence for the end.
Mother Guttersnipe had fallen back in the bed, with one claw-like hand
clutching the pillow, as if to protect her beloved gold, and over her
face a deadly paleness was spreading, which told the practised eye of
the doctor that the end was near. He knelt down beside the bed for a
moment, holding the candle to the dying woman's face. She opened her
eyes, and muttered drowsily--

"Who's you? get out," but then she seemed to grasp the situation again,
and she started up with a shrill yell, which made the hearers shudder,
it was so weird and eerie.

"My money!" she yelled, clasping the pillow in her skinny arms. "It's
all mine, ye shan't have it--cuss ye."

The doctor arose from his knees, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Not worth while doing anything," he said coolly, "she'll be dead soon."

The old woman, mumbling over her pillow, caught the word, and burst
into tears.

"Dead! dead! my poor Rosanna, with 'er golden 'air, always lovin' 'er
pore mother till 'e took 'er away, an' she came back to die--die--ooh!"

Her voice died away in a long melancholy wail, that made the two girls
in the corner shiver, and put their fingers in the