host, who is just entered, and stands looking on, his
countenance full of alarm.

"If she deys in my 'ouse, good sir, w'oat then?"

"You mean the expense?"

"Just so--it 'll be nae trifle, ye kno'!" The host shakes his head,
doubtingly. Tom begs he will not be troubled about that, and gives
another assurance from his purse that quite relieves the host's
apprehensions. A low, heavy breathing, followed by a return of spasms,
bespeaks the sinking condition of the sufferer. The policeman returns,
preceded by a physician--the only one to be got at, he says--in very
dilapidated broadcloth, and whose breath is rather strong of gin. "An'
whereabutes did ye pick the woman up,--an, an, wha's teu stond the
bill?" he inquires, in a deep Scotch brogue, then ordering the little
window opened, feels clumsily the almost pulseless hand. Encouraged on
the matter of his bill, he turns first to the host, then to Tom, and
says, "the wuman's nae much, for she's amast dede wi' exhaustion." And
while he is ordering a nostrum he knows can do no good, the woman makes
a violent struggle, opens her eyes, and seems casting a last glance
round the dark room. Now she sets them fixedly upon the ceiling, her
lips pale, and her countenance becomes spectre-like--a low, gurgling
sound is heard, the messenger of retribution is come--Madame Flamingo is
dead!

CHAPTER XL.

IN WHICH THE LAW IS SEEN TO CONFLICT WITH OUR CHERISHED CHIVALRY.

"What could the woman mean, when on taking leave of me she said, 'you
are far richer than me?'" questions Maria McArthur to herself, when,
finding she is alone and homeless in the street, she opens the packet
the woman Anna slipped so mysteriously into her hand, and finds it
contains two twenty-dollar gold pieces. And while evolving in her mind
whether she shall appropriate them to the relief of her destitute
condition, her conscience smites her. It is the gold got of vice. Her
heart shares the impulse that prompted the act, but her pure spirit
recoils from the acceptance of such charity. "You are far richer than
me!" knells in her ears, and reveals to her the heart-burnings of the
woman who lives in licentious splendor. "I have no home, no friend near
me, and nowhere to lay my head; and yet I am richer than her;" she says,
gazing at the moon, and the stars, and the serene heavens. And the
contemplation brings to her consolation and strength. She wanders back
to the gate of the old prison, resolved to return