," said Connie, "that _us_ could stop
seekin' yer until we found yer?"

Sue gave a startled cry.

"Connie--Connie! Oh Connie! 'ow is Giles?"

"'E wants yer more than anything in all the world."

"Then he--he's--still alive?"

"Yus, he's still alive; but he wants yer. He thought you was in the
country, gettin' pretty rooms for you and him. But oh, Sue! he's goin'
to a more beautiful country now."

Sue didn't cry. She was about to say something, when Harris bent
forward.

"God in 'eaven bless yer!" he said in a husky voice. "God in 'eaven give
back yer strength for that noble deed yer ha' done for me an' mine! But
it's all at an end now, Susan--all at an end--for I myself 'ave tuk the
matter in 'and, an' hall you 'as to do is to get well as fast as ever
yer can for the sake o' Giles."

"You mustn't excite her any more to-night," said the nurse then, coming
forward; "seeing," she added, "that you have given the poor little thing
relief. You can come again to-morrow; but now she must stay quiet."

Late as the hour was when Harris and Connie left St. Thomas's Hospital,
Harris turned to Connie.

"I've some'ut to do--and to-night. Shall I take yer 'ome first, or wull
yer come with me?"

"Oh, I will come with you, father," said Connie.

"Wull then, come along."

They walked far--almost as far as Cheapside. Connie could not imagine
why her father was taking her into a certain dingy street, and why he
suddenly stopped at a door which had not yet been shut for the night.

"I thought as there were a chance of findin' him up," he said. "Come
right in, gel."

Connie entered, and the next minute Harris was addressing the pawnbroker
from whom he had stolen the locket.

"I 'ave a word to say with you," he remarked; and then he related the
circumstances of that day, several weeks ago now.

"But we found it," said the pawnbroker, "in the pocket of the young
gel."

"It was I as put it there," said Harris. "It was I--the meanest wretch
on 'arth. But I've come to my senses at last. You can lock me up ef yer
like. I'll stay 'ere; I won't even leave the shop ef yer want to deliver
the real thief over to justice."

The pawnbroker stared at the man; then he looked at Connie. There is no
saying what he might have done; but Connie's face, with its pleading
expression, was enough to disarm any one.

"The fact is," he began "this sort o' thing ought to be punished, or
however could poor folks live? But it's a queer thing.