What has become of your
promises?"

"Little father, I have great trouble," said the man, humbly.

"You! You in trouble!" said Edwards, angrily. "You do not know what
trouble is. You have everything in the world you could wish for. You
have good friends, as much employment as you can want, fair wages, and a
comfortable home. If your wife ran away from you, isn't it a good
riddance? And then, instead of setting about your work like a good
citizen, you think of nothing but murdering a man who is as far away
from you as the man in the moon, and then you take to drinking, and
become a nuisance to every one."

"Little father, I have many troubles, and I wish to forget."

"Your troubles!" said Edwards, though his anger was a little bit
assumed: he wished to frighten the man into better ways. "What are your
troubles? Think of that beautiful lady you are always talking about, who
interested herself in you--the bigger fool she!--think of her trouble
when she knows that her father is to die; and for what? Because he was
not obedient to the laws of the Society. And he is punished with death;
and you, have you been obedient? What has become of your promises to
me?"

The man before him seemed at this moment to arouse himself. He answered
nothing to the reproaches hurled at him; but said, with a glance of
eager interest in the sunken eyes,

"Is she in great trouble, little father?"

This gleam of intelligence rather startled Edwards. He had been merely
scolding a half-drunken poor devil, and had been incautious as to what
he said. He continued, with greater discretion,

"Would she have her troubles made any the less if she knew how you were
behaving? She was interested in you; many a time she asked about you--"

"Yes, yes," the man said, slowly; and he was twisting about the cap that
he held in his hand.

"And she gave you her portrait. Well, I am glad you knew you were not
fit to retain such a gift. A young lady like that does not give her
portrait to be taken into public-houses--"

"No more--do not say any more, little father," Kirski said, though in
the same humble way. "It is useless."

"Useless?"

"I will not go back to any public-house--never."

"So you said to me four days ago," Edwards answered.

"This time it is true," he said, though he did not lift his bleared
eyes. "To-morrow I will take back the portrait, little father; it shall
remain with me, in my room. I do not go back to any public-house, I
shall