Mrs. Kane's face hardened. The stranger was a convict, a thief
perhaps. Why should she--A door slammed below, and there were excited
voices in the hall, the tread of heavy steps on the stairs. The
fugitive listened.

"That's them," she said. "Quick! lemme get in! O God!" she pleaded
with desperate entreaty, as Mrs. Kane stood coldly unresponsive, "you
have your baby. I haven't seen mine in seven months, and they never
wrote. I'll never have the chance again."

The steps had halted in the second-floor hall. They were on the last
flight of stairs now. The mother's heart relented.

"Here," she said, "go in."

The bedroom door had barely closed upon the fugitive when a man in a
prison-keeper's garb stuck his head in from the hall. He saw only the
mother and the baby in its crib.

"Hang the woman!" he growled. "Did yez--"

A voice called from the lower hall: "Hey, Billy! she ain't in there.
She give us the slip, sure."

The keeper withdrew his head, growling. In the street the hue and cry
was raised; a prisoner had escaped.

When all was quiet, Mrs. Kane opened the bedroom door. She had a dark
wrapper and an old gray shawl on her arm.

"Go," she said, not unkindly, and laid them on the bed; "Go to your
child."

The woman caught at her hand with a sob, but she withdrew it hastily
and went back to her baby's crib.

The moon shone upon the hushed streets, when a woman, hooded in a gray
shawl, walked rapidly down Fifth Street, eying the tenements with a
searching look as she passed. On the stoop of one, a knot of mothers
were discussing their household affairs, idling a bit after the day's
work. The woman halted in front of the group, and was about to ask a
question, when one of the women arose with the exclamation:--

"Mother of God! it's Mame."

"Well," said the woman, testily, "and what if it is? Am I a spook that
ye need stare at me so? Ye knowed me well enough before. Where is
Will?"

There was no answer. The women looked at one another irresolutely.
None of them seemed to know what to say. It was the newcomer who broke
the silence again.

"Can't ye speak?" she said, in a voice in which anger and rising
apprehension were struggling. "Where's the boy? Kate, what is it?"

She had caught hold of the rail, as if in fear of falling. The woman
addressed said hesitatingly:--

"Did ye never hear, Mame? Ain't no one tole ye?"

"Tole me what?" cried the other, shrilly. "They tole me nothing.
What's wrong? G