r something--and then it
will be easier for us both.'

'Ye're mad!' said Norah MacMulty.

'No,' said Paul, 'I'm not mad. I'm going to save your soul, Norah.'

She looked at him fixedly.

'Ye mean it?' she asked.

'I mean it,' he answered. 'I mean it in God's hearing.'

'Well,' she said, 'I'm mightily obliged to ye.'

'You're coming, Norah?'

'What's your name?'

'Armstrong--Paul Armstrong.'

'I'll remember that,' she said. 'Good-bye to ye, Paul Armstrong.'

'No,' said Paul, 'you will come to me. I shall go to look for work
to-morrow, and as soon as I have found it I shall send for you, and you
will come.'

'D'ye want me to live with ye?' she asked.

'No,' he answered with a strong shudder. She saw that clearly, and her
colour changed. The swift distortion showed itself about her lips again.
It passed away in an instant, but it left the mouth trembling. 'I want
you to be away somewhere where nobody can say a word against you. I want
to see you and talk to you sometimes, and know that you are going on
prosperously.'

'I'm mightily obliged to ye,' she said again. 'Ye're a good little fool,
but a fool you are.'

'I am not a fool for this, Norah. Nobody is a fool who tries to do God's
work.'

'Anybody's a fool that tries to do God's work that way,' she answered.

'You say you are going to hell, Norah.'

'And so I am, but not for ruinin' a child that's got hysterics. I can
face the divvle without havin' that on my conscience. And I'll tell ye
somethin' that'll maybe turn out useful when ye grow older. Ye think
because I folly a callin' that no decent woman can think of and because
ye know that I drink, that I've no pride of me own. Ye're mistaken, Paul
Armstrong. If ye were ten years older, and I me own woman, I'd set these
in your face. D'ye mind me now?' She shook her hands before her for
an instant, and withdrew them under her shawl again. 'Ye mean well, I
think, but ye're just in-sultin' past bearin', an' so you are! Would I
live on the 'arnin's of a child? Oh, Mary, Mary, Mother o' God!' 'she
burst out, 'look down an' see how I'm trodden in the mud. Go away, go
away; go away, I tell ye! I know what I am. Right well I know what I am.
But d'ye think I'm that?

Black misery on your---- No. Ill not curse ye, for I believe ye meant
well. But if ye're not gone, I've a scissors here, an' I'll do meself a
mischief.'

The outburst overwhelmed him. The man of the world who could have stood
unmoved again