dge, while
commiserating with the prisoner, said it could not be allowed that
distress should justify dishonesty, and sentenced the prisoner to six
weeks' imprisonment.'

The six weeks passed, and about a fortnight after that, John Hewett
came into Sidney's room one evening with a strange look on his face.
His eyes were very bright, the hand which he held out trembled.

'I've something to tell you,' he said. 'I'm going to get married again.'

'Really? Why, I'm glad to hear it!'

'And who do you think? Miss Barnes.'

Sidney was startled for a moment. John had had no acquaintance with the
girl prior to her imprisonment. He had said that he should meet her
when she came out and give her some money, and Sidney had added a
contribution. For a man in Hewett's circumstances this latest step was
somewhat astonishing, but his character explained it.

'I'm goin' to marry her,' he exclaimed excitedly, 'and I'm doing the
right thing! I respect her more than all the women as never went wrong
because they never had occasion to. I'm goin' to put her as a mother
over my children, and I'm goin' to make a happier life for her. She's a
good girl, I tell you. I've seen her nearly every day this fortnight; I
know all about her. She wouldn't have me when I first asked her--that
was a week ago. She said no; she'd disgrace me. If you can't respect
her as you would any other woman, never come into my lodging!'

Sidney was warm with generous glow. He wrung Hewett's hand and
stammered incoherent words.

John took new lodgings in an obscure part of Clerkenwell, and seemed to
have become a young man once more. His complaints ceased; the energy
with which he went about his work was remarkable. He said his wife was
the salvation of him. And then befell one of those happy chances which
supply mankind with instances for its pathetic faith that a good deed
will not fail of reward. John's brother died, and bequeathed to him
some four hundred pounds. Hereupon, what must the poor fellow do but
open workshops on his own account, engage men, go about crying that his
opportunity had come at last. Here was the bit of rock by means of
which he could save himself from the sea of competition that had so
nearly whelmed him! Little Clara, now eleven years old, could go on
steadily at school; no need to think of how the poor child should earn
a wretched living. Bob, now thirteen, should shortly be apprenticed to
some better kind of trade. New rooms were tak