ow?"

"Vy, ain't the shops full of 'em? I'd go an help myself, spite of all
the bobbies that valks in blue."

"Oh, Slidder," said I, really grieved, for I saw by his earnest face
that he meant it, "would you go and steal after all I have said to you
about that sin?"

"Vell, sir, I wouldn't prig for myself--indeed I wouldn't--but I'd do it
to make the old 'ooman better."

"That would not change stealing into a virtue. No, my boy, we must try
to hit on some other way of providing for her wants."

"The Lord will provide," said Mrs Willis, from the bed.

She had overheard us. I hastened to her side.

"Yes, granny, He _will_ provide. Meanwhile He has given me enough money
to spare a little for your immediate wants. I will send some things,
which your kind neighbour, Mrs Jones, will cook for you. I'll give her
directions as I pass her door. Slidder will go home with me and fetch
you the medicines you require. Now, try to sleep till Mrs Jones comes
with the food. You must not speak to me. It will make you worse."

"I only want to ask, John, have you any--any news about--"

"No, not yet, granny; but don't be cast down. If you can trust God for
food, surely you can trust Him for protection, not only to yourself, but
to Edie. Remember the words, `Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He will
bring it to pass.'"

"Thank you, John," replied the old woman, as she sank back on her pillow
with a little sigh.

After leaving Mrs Willis I was detained so long with some of my
patients that it was late before I could turn my steps westward. The
night was very cold, with a keen December wind blowing, and heavy black
clouds driving across the dark sky. It was after midnight as I drew
near the neighbourhood of the house in which I had left Dumps so
hurriedly that morning. In my haste I had neglected to ask the name of
the young lady with whom I had left him, or to note the number of the
house; but I recollected its position, and resolved to go round by it
for the purpose of ascertaining the name on the door.

CHAPTER FIVE.

CONSPIRACY AND VILLAINY, INNOCENCE AND TRAGEDY.

In one of the dirtiest of the dirty and disreputable dens of London, a
man and a boy sat on that same dark December night engaged in earnest
conversation.

Their seats were stools, their table was an empty flour-barrel, their
apartment a cellar. A farthing candle stood awry in the neck of a pint
bottle. A broken-lipped jug of gin-and-water