auty getting their supper as quiet as possible. Meg had heard
the toff talking to the policeman--though I didn't know she was
standing so near--and whisked her off and away as quick as
lightning.'

'That was I,' I said. 'God! God! If I had only known!'

'There's the same look now on your face as there was then, and I
should know it among ten thousand.'

'Polly Onion,' I said, 'there is my address, and if ever you want a
friend, and if you are in trouble, you will know where to find
assistance,' and I gave her another sovereign.

'You're a good sort,' said she, 'and no mistake.'

'Good-bye,' I said, shaking her hand. 'See well after Mrs. Gudgeon.'

'All right,' said she, and a smile broke over her face. 'I think I
ought to tell you now,' she continued, 'that Meg's no more ill of
dropsy than I am; she could walk twenty miles off the reel; there
ain't a bullock in England half as strong as Meg; she's shamming.'

'Shamming, but why?'

'Well, she ain't drunk; ever since the Beauty died she's never
touched a drop o' gin. But she's turned quite cranky. She's got it
into her head that the relations of the Beauty are going to send her
to prison for kidnapping; and she thinks that every one that comes
near her is a policeman in plain clothes. She's just lying in bed to
keep herself out of the way till she starts.'

'Where's she going, then?'

'She talks about going to see after her son Bob in the country; her
husband is a Welshman. He's over the water.'

'Did you say she had given up drinking?' I asked.

'Yes; she seemed to dote on the Beauty, and when the Beauty died she
said, "My darter went wrong through me drinkin', and my son Bob went
wrong through me drinkin'; and I feel somehow that it was through my
drinkin' that I lost the Beauty; and never will you find me touch
another drop o' gin, Poll. Beer I ain't fond on, and it 'ud take a
rare swill o' beer to get up as far as Meg Gudgeon's head."'

'There ain't much fault to be found with a woman like Meg Gudgeon,'
said Sinfi. 'Was the Beauty fond o' her? She ought to ha' bin.'

'She used to call her Knocker,' said the girl. 'She seemed very fond
of her when they were together, but seemed to forget her as soon as
they were apart.'

Sinfi and I then left the house.

In Great Queen Street she took my hand as if to bid me good-bye. But
she stood and gazed at me wistfully, and I gazed at her. At last she
said,

'An' now, brother, we'll jist go across to Kingston