For a quarter of an hour the yells from
their drink-sodden throats echoed among the buildings. Quietness was
probably caused by the interference of police; knowing that, Bob shrank
together in his lurking-place.

When all had been still for some time he resolved to go upstairs again
and try the door, for his breathing grew more and more painful, and
there was a whirling in his head which made him fear that he might
become insensible. To rise was more difficult than he had imagined; his
head overweighted him, all but caused him to plunge forward; he groped
this way and that with his hands, seeking vainly for something to cling
to on the whitewashed wall. In his depth of utter misery he gave way
and sobbed several times. Then once more he had the warm taste of blood
in his mouth. Terror-stricken, he staggered into the house.

This time a voice answered to his knock. He opened the door.

The room contained no article of furniture. In one corner lay some
rags, and on the mantel-piece stood a tin teapot, two cups, and a
plate. There was no fire, but a few pieces of wood lay near the hearth,
and at the bottom of the open cupboard remained a very small supply of
coals. A candle made fast in the neck of a bottle was the source of
light.

On the floor was sitting, or lying, an animated object, indescribable;
Bob knew it for Mrs. Candy. Her eyes looked up at him apprehensively.

'I want to stay the night over, if you'll let me.' he said, when he had
closed the door. 'I've got to hide away; nobody mustn't know as I'm
here.'

'You're welcome,' the woman replied, in a voice which was horrible to
hear.

Then she paid no more attention to him, but leaned her head upon her
hand and began a regular moaning, as if she suffered some dull,
persistent pain.

Bob crept up to the wall and let himself sink there. He could not
reflect for more than a minute or two continuously; his brain then
became a mere confused whirl. In one of the intervals of his perfect
consciousness he asked Mrs. Candy if Stephen would come here to-night.
She did not heed him till he had twice repeated the question, and then
she started and looked at him in wild fear.

'Will Stephen be coming?'

'Stephen? Yes, yes. I shouldn't wonder.'

She seemed to fall asleep as soon as she had spoken; her bead dropped
heavily on the boards.

Not long after midnight the potman made his appearance. As always, on
returning from his sixteen-hour day of work, he was all