ing there."

"That is true," said Margaret, firmly; "nor have we any money. We are
very poor. You could not have come to a worse place, if you are in
want."

"Here is something, however," said the man, turning to the tray. "With
your leave, I'll see what you have left us to eat."

He thrust one of the candles between the bars of the grate to light it,
telling the ladies they had better start no difficulty, lest they should
have reason to repent it. There were others with him in the house, who
would show themselves in an instant, if any noise were made.

"Then do you make none--I beg it as a favour," said Margaret. "There is
a lady asleep up-stairs, with a very young infant. If you respect her
life you will be quiet."

The man did not answer, but he was quiet. He cut slices from the loaf,
and carried them to the door, and they were taken by somebody outside.
He quickly devoured the remains of the pheasant, tearing the meat from
the bones with his teeth. He drank from the decanter of wine, and then
carried it where he had taken the bread. Two men put their heads in at
the door, nodded to the ladies before they drank, and again withdrew.
The girls cast a look at each other--a glance of agreement that
resistance was not to be thought of: yet each was conscious of a feeling
of rather pleasant surprise that she was not more alarmed.

"Now for it!" said the man, striding oddly about in his petticoats, and
evidently out of patience with them. "Now for your money!" As he
spoke, he put the spoons from the tray into the bosom of his gown,
proceeding to murmur at his deficiency of pockets.

Margaret held out her purse to him. It contained one single shilling.

"You don't mean this is all you are going to give me?"

"It is all I have: and I believe there is not another shilling in the
house. I told you we have no money."

"And you?" said he, turning to Maria.

"I have not my purse about me; and if I had there is nothing in it worth
your taking. I assure you I have not got my purse. I am only a visitor
here for this one night--and an odd night it is to have chosen, as it
turns out."

"Give me your watches."

"I have no watch. I have not had a watch these five years," said Maria.

"I have no watch," said Margaret. "I sold mine a month ago. I told you
we were very poor."

The man muttered something about the plague of gentlefolks being so
poor, and about wondering that gentlefolks were not ashamed of