oker's in the Mile
End Waste which I had seen on my West End journeys. When I got there I
stole in at a side door, half-closing my eyes as I did so, by that
strange impulse which causes us to see nothing when we do not wish to be
seen.

I shall never forget the scene inside. I think it must have left a scar
on my brain, for I see it now in every detail--the little dark
compartment; the high counter; the shelves at the back full of parcels,
like those of a left-luggage room at a railway station; the heavy,
baggy, big-faced man in shirt-sleeves with a long cigar held between his
teeth at the corner of his frothy mouth; and then my own hurried
breathing; my thin fingers opening the tissue paper and holding out the
miniature; the man's coarse hands fumbling it; his casual air as he
looked at it and cheapened it, as if it had been a common thing scarcely
worthy of consideration.

"What's this 'ere old-fashion'd thing? Portrait of your
great-grandmother? Hum! Not 'arf bad-looking fice, neither."

I think my eyes must have been blazing like hot coals. I am sure I bit
my lips (I felt them damp and knew they were bleeding) to prevent myself
from flinging out at the man in spite of my necessity. But I did my best
to control my trembling mouth, and when he asked me how much I wanted on
the miniature I answered, with a gulp in my throat:

"Two pounds ten, if you please, sir."

"Couldn't do it," said the pawnbroker.

I stood speechless for a moment, not knowing what to say next, and then
the pawnbroker, with apparent indifference, said:

"I'll give you two ten for it out and out."

"You mean I am to _sell_ . . ."

"Yus, take it or leave it, my dear."

It is no use saying what I suffered at that moment. I think I became ten
years older during the few minutes I stood at that counter.

But they came to an end somehow, and the next thing I knew was that I
was on my way back to Ilford; that the damp air had deepened into rain;
that miserable and perhaps homeless beings, ill-clad and ill-fed, were
creeping along in the searching cold with that shuffling sound which bad
boots make on a wet pavement; and that I was telling myself with a
fluttering heart that the sheltering wings of my beautiful mother in
heaven had come to cover my child.

On reaching the Olivers', hot and breathless, I put three gold coins,
two sovereigns and a half-sovereign, on to the table to pay off the
broker's men.

They had been settling themselves