moments when I can almost pardon
myself, but that is too hard. Devine said he could not see Letty often.
He only saw her once more. She was ailing and weakly, and one day she
put her arms round her father's neck, and whispered to him. He started,
and growled, "All right, my gal; I deny you nothin'. Only I'll go out of
the 'ouse before he comes."

So William Devine was summoned, and he found his wife propped up in bed.
Her hands were frail, and the bones of her arms stood out sharply. The
man was choking, Letty made an effort, lifted her arms, and drew him
down to her with an ineffable gesture of tenderness. "Oh, Will, I'm glad
you've come. How happy we were--how happy! I forget everything but
that." Devine could not speak for a while. Letty said:

"You'll always be near the children, won't you?"

"So help me God! I'll give up my life to them."

Then the doctor came, and the Wanderer saw his stricken wife no more.

Devine bore many hardships before he was able to claim his children, and
even when he had rigged up a house fit to shelter them he was vigorously
opposed by old Billiter. But he got his own way, and Letty's children
joined their father.

And now I must speak of a strange thing. The room which the Wanderer
occupies is bare of every comfort. When we sit together we rest our
glasses on the mantelpiece (for there is no table), and our feet are on
the boards. But one night Devine said, "Come up and see my pets in
bed." The young people were disposed in two absolutely comfortable
rooms. Everything was neat and clean, and there were signs even of
luxury. "How is this? Squalor below, comfort here," I thought. A little
girl who was awake said, "Kiss me, papa, dear." Her nightgown was white
and pretty. All the clothes that lay around were good. "Now, see the
children's room," said my seedy host. "They live _there_." And, behold!
a perfectly comfortable place, fitted up with strong, good furniture.

When we went down, the Wanderer helped himself from my flask. Then, with
majesty, he observed, "You marvel to see me so shabby? Sir, you must
know that I wear my clothes till they are falling to pieces. I deny
myself everything but the booze, and I never start on that till I've
handed my daughter--bless her!--the best part of the money. I made a
promise to a saint, sir. I couldn't drop the liquor. It's my master, so
I fight as long as I can and get better as soon as possible after it's
over. I'm wrong to give way and