" filled my heart.

"I am used to the cold," came in another moment from the place where she
crouched. "It is the child--she is hungry; and I--I walked
here--feeling, hoping that, as my father's heir, I might partake in some
slight measure of Uncle Anthony's money. Though my father cast me out
before he died, and I have neither home nor money, I do not complain. I
forfeited all when----" Another wail, another gentle "Hush!" then
silence.

I lit another match. "Look in my face!" I prayed. "I am a stranger, and
you would be showing only proper prudence not to trust me. But I
overheard your words when you withdrew from the room where your fortune
lay; and I honour you, madam. If food can be got for your little one, I
will get it."

I caught sight of the convulsive clasp with which she drew to her breast
the tiny bundle she held; then darkness fell again.

"A little bread," she entreated; "a little milk--ah, baby, baby, hush!"

"But where can I get it?" I cried. "They are at table inside. I hear
them shouting over their good cheer. But perhaps there are neighbours
near by. Do you know?"

"There are no neighbours," she replied. "What is got must be got here. I
know a way to the kitchen; I used to visit Uncle Anthony when a little
child. If you have the courage----"

I laughed. This token of confidence seemed to reassure her. I heard her
move; possibly she stood up.

"In the further corner of this shed," said she, "there used to be a
trap, connecting this floor with an underground passage-way. A ladder
stood against the trap, and the small cellar at the foot communicated by
means of an iron-bound door with the large one under the house. Eighteen
years ago the wood of that door was old; now it should be rotten. If you
have the strength----"

"I will make the effort and see," said I. "But when I am in the cellar,
what then?"

"Follow the wall to the right; you will come to a stone staircase. As
this staircase has no railing, be careful in ascending it. At the top
you will find a door; it leads into a pantry adjoining the kitchen. Some
one will be in that pantry. Some one will give you a bite for the child,
and when she is quieted and the sun has risen I will go away. It is my
duty to do so. My uncle was always upright, if cold. He was perfectly
justified in exacting rectitude in his heirs."

I might have rejoined by asking if she detected rectitude in the faces
of the greedy throng she had left behind her with the