or him to have his comforts, he'd let me; but he's never
taken to her. Now, don't tremble so--I've but a little more to tell--and
maybe I'm wrong in telling it; but I used to work next door to Mrs.
Lomax's, in Brabazon Street, and the servants were all thick together;
and I heard about Bessy (they called her) being sent away. I don't know
that ever I saw her; but the time would be about fitting to this child's
age, and I've sometimes fancied it was hers. And now, will you look at
the little clothes that came with her--bless her!"

But Mrs. Leigh had fainted. The strange joy and shame, and gushing love
for the little child, had overpowered her; it was some time before Susan
could bring her round. There she was all trembling, sick with impatience
to look at the little frocks. Among them was a slip of paper which Susan
had forgotten to name, that had been pinned to the bundle. On it was
scrawled in a round stiff hand--

"Call her Anne. She does not cry much, and takes a deal of notice. God
bless you and forgive me."

The writing was no clue at all; the name "Anne," common though it was,
seemed something to build upon. But Mrs. Leigh recognised one of the
frocks instantly, as being made out of a part of a gown that she and her
daughter had bought together in Rochdale.

She stood up, and stretched out her hands in the attitude of blessing
over Susan's bent head.

"God bless you, and show you His mercy in your need, as you have shown it
to this little child."

She took the little creature in her arms, and smoothed away her sad looks
to a smile, and kissed it fondly, saying over and over again, "Nanny,
Nanny, my little Nanny." At last the child was soothed, and looked in
her face and smiled back again.

"It has her eyes," said she to Susan.

"I never saw her to the best of my knowledge. I think it must be hers by
the frock. But where can she be?"

"God knows," said Mrs. Leigh; "I dare not think she's dead. I'm sure she
isn't."

"No; she's not dead. Every now and then a little packet is thrust in
under our door, with, may be, two half-crowns in it; once it was half-a-
sovereign. Altogether I've got seven-and-thirty shillings wrapped up for
Nanny. I never touch it, but I've often thought the poor mother feels
near to God when she brings this money. Father wanted to set the
policeman to watch, but I said No; for I was afraid if she was watched
she might not come, and it seemed such a holy thing to be