ong the
night air. Nothing else broke the silence of the nocturnal streets.
Michael felt tired, and he was disappointed by his failure to find
Lily. Just as he was dozing off, he remembered that his Viva Voce at
Oxford was due some time this week. He must go back to Cheyne Walk
to-morrow, and on this resolution he fell asleep.

Michael woke up with a start and instantly became aware that the house
was full of discordant sounds. For a minute or two he lay motionless
trying to connect the noise with the present, trying to separate his
faculties from the inspissate air that seemed to be throttling them. He
was not yet free from the confusion of sleep, and for a few seconds he
could only perceive the sound almost visibly churning the clotted
darkness that was stifling him. Gradually the clamor resolved itself
into the voices of Mr. Murdoch, Mrs. Murdoch and Poppy at the pitch of
excitement. Nothing was intelligible except the oaths that came up in a
series of explosions detached from the main din. He got out of bed and
lit the gas, saw that it was one o'clock, dressed himself roughly, and
opened the door of his room.

"Yes, my lad, you thought you was very clever."

"No, I didn't think I was clever. Now then."

"Yes! You can spend all your money on that muck. The sauce of it. In a
hansom!"

Here Poppy's voice came in with a malignant piping sound.

"Muck yourself, you dirty old case-keeper!"

"You call me a case-keeper? What men have I ever let you bring back
here?"

Mrs. Murdoch's voice was swollen with wrath.

"You don't know how many men I haven't brought back. So now, you great
ugly mare!" Poppy howled.

"The only fellow you've ever brought to my house is that one-eyed----
who calls himself my husband. Mister _Mur_doch! Mis-ter _Murdoch!_ And
you get out of my house in the streets where you belong. I don't want
no two-and-fours in _my_ house."

"Hark at her!" Poppy cried, in a horrible screaming laugh. "Why don't
you go back on the streets yourself? Why, I can remember you as one of
the old fourpenny Hasbeens when I was still dressmaking; a dirty drunken
old teat that couldn't have got off with a blind tramp."

Michael punctuated each fresh taunt and accusation with a step forward
to interfere; and every time he held himself back, pondering the
impossibility of extracting from these charges and countercharges any
logical assignment of blame. It made him laugh to think how
extraordinarily in the wrong the