astrophe, he hastened to Hoxton. His brother was in custody for
stealing money from the till.

The ironmonger was inexorable. 'Arry passed through the judicial routine
and was sentenced to three months of hard labour.

It was in connection with this wretched affair that Richard once more
met his mother. He went from the shop to tell her what had happened.

He found her in the kitchen, occupied as he had seen her many, many
times, ironing newly washed linen. One of the lodgers happened to come
out from the house as he ascended the steps, so he was able to go down
without announcing himself. The old woman had a nervous start; the iron
stopped in its smooth backward and forward motion; the hand with
which she held it trembled. She kept her eyes on Richard's face, which
foretold evil.

'Mother, I have brought you bad news.'

She pushed the iron aside and stood waiting. Her hard lips grew harder;
her deep-set eyes had a stern light. Not much ill could come to pass for
which she was not prepared.

He tried to break the news. His mother interrupted him.

'What's he been a-doin'? You've no need to go round about. I like
straightforwardness.'

Richard told her. It did not seem to affect her strongly; she turned to
the table and resumed her work. But she could no longer guide the iron.
She pushed it aside and faced her son with such a look as one may see in
the eyes of a weak animal cruelly assailed. Her tongue found its freedom
and bore her whither it would.

'What did I tell you? What was it I said that night you come in and told
me you; was all rich? Didn't I warn you that there'd no good come of
it? Didn't I say you'd remember my words? You laughed at me; you got
sharp-tempered with me an as good as called me a fool. An' what _has_
come of it? What's come of it to me? I had a 'ome once an' children
about me, an' now I've neither the one nor the other. You call it a 'ome
with strangers takin' up well nigh all the 'ouse? Not such a ome as I
thought to end my days in. It fair scrapes on my heart every time I hear
their feet going up an' down the stairs. An' where are my children gone?
Two of 'em as 'ud never think to come near me if it wasn't to bring ill
news, an' one in prison. How 'ud that sound in your father's ears, think
you? I may have been a fool, but I knew what 'ud come of a workin' man's
children goin' to live in big 'ouses, with their servants an' their
carriages. What better are you? It's come an' it's gon