is was terrible, but must be faced! Ah, God! His
little Anna! She had taken it--had stolen it--from Mrs. Vanderlyn! But
he would stand by her. Nothing should induce him to abandon her, no
matter what mad thing she had been tempted into doing. Doubtless it
had been his poverty (and was his poverty not direct result of his
incompetence?) which had led her into doing the dread thing which he
began to understand that she had done.

Now, surely, was not the time for him to offer her reproaches. Now was
the time, when he, the best friend she had, could ever have, must
comfort her and shelter her. Later, if there were reproaches to be
offered, would be time enough to offer them.

"Hush!" he said cautiously. "How you tremble! Anna--my little Anna!
She shall not see you like this. Go, liebling. I will first speak to
her. And ... whatever it may be ... fear not. Fear not."

M'riar had come in, and, fascinated by the scene, began to dimly see
its awful import, also. Her training in the slums of London where a
knock like that upon the door meant but one thing--the law--made the
situation clear to her, at once, and, bewildered as she was by the
amazing fact that it was Anna--her Frow-line--who was involved, she
did not lose her head.

"This w'y," she whispered, hoarsely. "This w'y, Frow-line! This w'y!"

She hurried Anna out into the kitchen and the flute-player could hear
the key turn in the lock behind them. Sure that, for the moment, his
dear child was safe, he now went to the door, with measured, steady
tread, and opened it.

"Come, Madame, come," he said to Mrs. Vanderlyn, who, flushed and
angry, waited with small patience at the threshold.

The old flute-player caught the glint of polished buttons and a
polished shield upon the breast of a man's coat beyond her, and he
recognized the face above them as that of his old shipboard enemy,
Moresco, now policeman on this beat.

CHAPTER VIII

The superbly dressed visitor, wrapped in silk brocades and woven
feathers, seemed strangely out of place there in the doorway of the
dingy tenement apartment. That she felt herself so, also, was
apparent, for there was, upon her face, a look of high contempt and
keen distaste. She swept into the little room with all the majesty of
a proud queen, forced, by some untoward circumstance, to call at the
low hovel of a very, very humble, and, probably, unworthy subject.

"Ah, Herr Kreutzer."

The old flute-player, after a scared