is wife and the baby,
and went off to the station to obtain leave of absence for a couple of
hours.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

JOE CORNEY'S ADVICE.

Wending his way through the crowded streets, Joe soon reached the door
of the house in Russell Square which belonged to Mrs Denman.

The good lady had made use of a cab after quitting Miss Deemas, so that
she was at home and seated in a luxuriously easy chair in her splendidly
furnished drawing-room when the fireman applied the knocker.

"Does Mrs Denman stop here, my dear?" said Joe to the smart
servant-girl who opened the door.

"Yes," replied the girl, "and she told me to show you up to the
drawing-room whenever you came. Step this way."

Joe pulled off his cap and followed the maid, who ushered him into the
presence of the little old lady.

"Pray take a chair," said Mrs Denman, pointing to one which had
evidently been placed close to hers on purpose. "You are a fireman, I
understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Joe, "I've bin more nor tin years at the business
now."

"You must find it a very warm business, I should imagine," said Mrs
Denman, with a smile.

"True for ye, ma'am. My body's bin a'most burnt off my sowl over and
over again; but it's cowld enough, too, sometimes, specially when ye've
got to watch the premises after the fire's bin put out of a cowld winter
night, as I had to do at _your_ house, ma'am."

Mrs Denman started and turned pale.

"What! d'you mean to say that you were at the fire in--in Holborn that
night?"

"Indeed I do, ma'am. Och! but ye must be ill, ma'am, for yer face is as
white as a ghost. Shure but it's _red_ now. Let me shout for some
wather for ye, ma'am."

"No, no, my good man," said Mrs Denman, recovering herself a little.
"I--I--the fact is, it did not occur to me that you had been at _that_
fire, else I would never--but no matter. You didn't see--see--any one
saved, did you?"

"See any one saved, is it? Shure, I did, an' yerself among the lot.
Och! but it's Frank Willders as knows how to do a thing nately. He
brought ye out o' the windy, ma'am, on his showlder as handy as if ye'd
bin a carpet-bag, or a porkmanty, ma'am--"

"Hush, _man_!" exclaimed poor Mrs Denman, blushing scarlet, for she was
a very sensitive old lady; "I cannot bear to think of it. But how
could--you know it was me? _It--it--might_ have been anything--a
bundle, you know."

"Not by no manes," replied the candid Joe. "We seed your shape qu