r ears than the most exquisite
music, and which brought a smile to her mouth and a pathos to her dark
eyes, rendering her face for the moment almost beautiful. Holding the
child closely to her breast, she looked cautiously out of her narrow
window, and perceived that the connubial fight was over. From the shouts
of laughter and plaudits that reached her ears, Joe Mawks had evidently
won the day; his wife had disappeared from the field. She saw the little
crowd dispersing, most of those who composed it entered the gin-shop,
and very soon the alley was comparatively quiet and deserted. By-and-bye
she heard her name called in a low voice: "Liz! Liz!"

She looked down and saw the old man who had promised her his protection
in case Mother Mawks should persecute her. "Is that you, Jim? Come
upstairs; it's better than talking out there." He obeyed, and stood
before her in the wretched room, looking curiously both at her and the
baby. A wiry, wolfish-faced being was Jim Duds, as he was familiarly
called, though his own name was the aristocratic and singularly
inappropriate one of James Douglas. He was more like an animal than a
human creature, with his straggling gray hair, bushy beard, and sharp
teeth protruding like fangs from beneath his upper lip. His profession
was that of an area thief, and he considered it a sufficiently
respectable calling.

"Mother Mawks has got it this time," he said, with a grin which was more
like a snarl. "Joe's blood was up, and he pounded her nigh into a jelly.
She'll leave ye quiet now; so long as ye pay the hire reg'lar ye'll have
Joe on yer side. If so be as there's a bad day, ye'd better not come
home at all."

"I know," said Liz; "but she's always had the money for the child, and
surely it wasn't much to ask her to let me keep it warm on such a cold
night as this."

Jim Duds looked meditative. "Wot makes yer care for that babby so much?"
he asked. "'T ain't yourn."

Liz sighed.

"No," she said, sadly. "That's true. But it seems something to hold on
to, like. See what my life has been!" She stopped, and a wave of colour
flushed her pallid features. "From a little girl, nothing but the
streets--the long, cruel streets! and I just a bit of dirt on the
pavement--no more; flung here, flung there, and at last swept into the
gutter. All dark--all useless!" She laughed a little. "Fancy, Jim! I've
never seen the country!"

"Nor I," said Jim, biting a piece of straw reflectively. "It must be