was lawfully
married in church, an' I've got my marriage lines now ter show I was,
an' thet one of my daughters should 'ave gone wrong in this way--well,
I can't understand it. I give 'er a good education, an' she 'ad all
the comforts of a 'ome. She never wanted for nothin'; I worked myself
to the bone ter keep 'er in luxury, an' then thet she should go an'
disgrace me like this!'

'I understand wot yer mean. Mrs. Kemp.'

'I can tell you my family was very respectable; an' my 'usband, 'e
earned twenty-five shillings a week, an' was in the sime plice
seventeen years; an' 'is employers sent a beautiful wreath ter put on
'is coffin; an' they tell me they never 'ad such a good workman an'
sich an 'onest man before. An' me! Well, I can sy this--I've done my
duty by the girl, an' she's never learnt anythin' but good from me. Of
course I ain't always been in wot yer might call flourishing
circumstances, but I've always set her a good example, as she could
tell yer so 'erself if she wasn't speechless.'

Mrs. Kemp paused for a moment's reflection.

'As they sy in the Bible,' she finished, 'it's enough ter mike one's
grey 'airs go dahn into the ground in sorrer. I can show yer my
marriage certificate. Of course one doesn't like ter say much, because
of course she's very bad; but if she got well I should 'ave given 'er
a talkin' ter.'

There was another knock.

'Do go an' see 'oo thet is; I can't, on account of my rheumatics.'

Mrs. Hodges opened the door. It was Jim.

He was very white, and the blackness of his hair and beard,
contrasting with the deathly pallor of his face, made him look
ghastly. Mrs. Hodges stepped back.

''Oo's 'e?' she said, turning to Mrs. Kemp.

Jim pushed her aside and went up to the bed.

'Doctor, is she very bad?' he asked.

The doctor looked at him questioningly.

Jim whispered: 'It was me as done it. She ain't goin' ter die, is
she?'

The doctor nodded.

'O God! wot shall I do? It was my fault! I wish I was dead!'

Jim took the girl's head in his hands, and the tears burst from his
eyes.

'She ain't dead yet, is she?'

'She's just living,' said the doctor.

Jim bent down.

'Liza, Liza, speak ter me! Liza, say you forgive me! Oh, speak ter
me!'

His voice was full of agony. The doctor spoke.

'She can't hear you.'

'Oh, she must hear me! Liza! Liza!'

He sank on his knees by the bedside.

They all remained silent: Liza lying stiller than ever, her breast
unmoved by t