"Oh, Norah," sobbed the child, in a husky, choking voice, "take me,
won't you? She'll pinch me, and she'll hit my head on the wall, and
she'll choke me and knock me. Oh, Norah, Norah!"

Pinky could stand this no longer. Catching up the bundle of rags in
her arms, she sprang out of the cellar and ran across the street to the
queen's house, Norah and Flanagan coming quickly after her. At the
door, through which Pinky had passed, Norah paused, and turning to the
infuriated Irish woman, said, sternly,

"Go back! I won't have you in here; and if you make a row, I'll tell
John to lock you up."

"I want my Nell," said the woman, her manner changing. There was a shade
of alarm in her voice.

"You can't have her to-night; so that's settled. And if there's any row,
you'll be locked up." Saying which, Norah went in and shut the door,
leaving Flanagan on the outside.

The bundle of dirty rags with the wasted body of a child inside, the
body scarcely heavier than the rags, was laid by Pinky in the corner
of a settee, and the unsightly mass shrunk together like something
inanimate.

"I thought you'd had enough with old Sal," said Norah, in a tone of
reproof, as she came in.

"Couldn't help it," replied Pinky. "I'm bad enough, but I can't stand to
see a child abused like that--no, not if I die for it."

Norah crossed to the settee and spoke to Nell. But there was no answer,
nor did the bundle of rags stir.

"Nell! Nell!" She called to deaf ears. Then she put her hand on the
child and raised one of the arms. It dropped away limp as a withered
stalk, showing the ashen white face across which it had lain.

The two women manifested no excitement. The child had fainted or was
dead--which, they did not know. Norah straightened out the wasted little
form and turned up the face. The eyes were shut, the mouth closed, the
pinched features rigid, as if still giving expression to pain, but there
was no mistaking the sign that life had gone out of them. It might be
for a brief season, it might be for ever.

A little water was thrown into the child's face. Its only effect was to
streak the grimy skin.

"Poor little thing!" said Pinky. "I hope she's dead."

"They're tough. They don't die easy," returned Norah.

"She isn't one of the tough kind."

"Maybe not. They say Flanagan stole her when she was a little thing,
just toddling."

"Don't let's do anything to try to bring her to," said Pinky.

Norah stood for some moment's wit