eside the fireless grate, and taking out his bosom companion, a
short black pipe, which he began to fill.

"I am always busy," said Martha, with a sigh.

"An' it don't seem to agree with you, to judge from your looks,"
rejoined the man.

This was true. The poor girl's pretty face was thin and very pale and
haggard.

"I was up all last night," she said, "and feel tired now, and there's
not much chance of my getting to bed to-night either, because the lady
for whom I am making this must have it by to-morrow afternoon at
latest."

Here Mr Sparks muttered something very like a malediction on ladies in
general, and on ladies who "_must_" have dresses in particular.

"Your fire's dead out, Martha," he added, poking among the ashes in
search of a live ember.

"Yes, Phil, it's out. I can't afford fire of an evening; besides it
ain't cold just now."

"You can afford matches, I suppose," growled Phil; "ah, here they are.
Useful things matches, not only for lightin' a feller's pipe with, but
also for--well; so she _must_ have it by to-morrow afternoon, must she?"

"Yes, so my employer tells me."

"An' she'll not take no denial, won't she?"

"I believe not," replied Martha, with a faint smile, which, like a gleam
of sunshine on a dark landscape, gave indication of the brightness that
might have been if grey clouds of sorrow had not overspread her sky.

"What's the lady's name, Martha?"

"Middleton."

"And w'ere abouts may she live?"

"In Conway Street, Knightsbridge."

"The number?"

"Number 6, I believe; but why are you so particular in your inquiries
about her?" said Martha, looking up for a moment from her work, while
the faint gleam of sunshine again flitted over her face.

"Why, you see, Martha," replied Phil, gazing through the smoke of his
pipe with a sinister smile, "it makes a feller feel koorious to hear the
partiklers about a lady wot _must_ have things, an' won't take no
denial! If I was you, now, I'd disappoint her, an' see how she'd take
it."

He wound up his remark, which was made in a bantering tone, with another
malediction, which was earnest enough--savagely so.

"Oh! Phil," cried the girl, in an earnest tone of entreaty; "don't, oh,
don't swear so. It is awful to think that God hears you, is near you--
at your very elbow--while you thus insult Him to his face."

The man made no reply, but smoked with increasing intensity, while he
frowned at the empty fire-place.

"Well, Martha,