ner too
ran, and caught up the child. The woman gave a howl and rushed towards
the other. I caught up that one. With a last shriek, she dashed her head
against the wall of the public-house, dropped on the pavement, and lay
still.

Falconer set the child down, lifted the wasted form in his arms, and
carried it into the house. The face was blue as that of a strangled
corpse. She was dead.

'Was she a married woman?' Falconer asked.

'It's myself can't tell you sir,' the Irishwoman answered. 'I never saw
any boy with her.'

'Do you know where she lived?'

'No, sir. Somewhere not far off, though. The children will know.'

But they stood staring at their mother, and we could get nothing out of
them. They would not move from the corpse.

'I think we may appropriate this treasure-trove,' said Falconer, turning
at last to me; and as he spoke, he took the eldest in his arms. Then,
turning to the woman, he gave her a card, saying, 'If any inquiry is
made about them, there is my address.--Will you take the other, Mr.
Gordon?'

I obeyed. The children cried no more. After traversing a few streets, we
found a cab, and drove to a house in Queen Square, Bloomsbury.

Falconer got out at the door of a large house, and rung the bell; then
got the children out, and dismissed the cab. There we stood in the
middle of the night, in a silent, empty square, each with a child in
his arms. In a few minutes we heard the bolts being withdrawn. The door
opened, and a tall graceful form wrapped in a dressing-gown, appeared.

'I have brought you two babies, Miss St. John,' said Falconer. 'Can you
take them?'

'To be sure I can,' she answered, and turned to lead the way. 'Bring
them in.'

We followed her into a little back room. She put down her candle, and
went straight to the cupboard, whence she brought a sponge-cake, from
which she cut a large piece for each of the children.

'What a mercy they are, Robert,--those little gates in the face! Red
Lane leads direct to the heart,' she said, smiling, as if she rejoiced
in the idea of taming the little wild angelets. 'Don't you stop. You are
tired enough, I am sure. I will wake my maid, and we'll get them washed
and put to bed at once.'

She was closing the door, when Falconer turned.

'Oh! Miss St. John,' he said, 'I was forgetting. Could you go down to
No. 13 in Soap Lane--you know it, don't you?'

'Yes. Quite well.'

'Ask for a girl called Nell--a plain, pock-marked young girl--a