ay there's no
one in the house then," said she. This was panic, and loss of judgment.
For the interview was palpable to anyone approaching down the Court.
Micky must have felt this, but he only said:--"I'll square him how I
can, missis," and withdrew from the door. Mr. Wix's lurching footstep,
with the memory of its fetters on it, approached at its leisure. He
stopped and looked round, and saw the boy, who acknowledged his stare.
"I see you a-coming," said Michael.

Mr. Wix said:--"Young Ikey." He appeared to consider a course of action.
"Now do you want another half-a-bull?"

"Ah!" Micky was clear about that.

"Then you do sentry-go outside o' this, in the street, and if you see a
copper turning in here, you run ahead and give the word. Understand?
This is Wardle's, ain't it?"

"That's Wardle's. But there ain't nobody there."

"You young liar. I saw you talking through the door, only this minute."

"That warn't anybody, only Aunt M'riar. Party you wants is away--gone
away for a change. Mr. Moses ain't there, but he'll be back afore you
can reckon him up. You may knock at that door till you 'ammer in the
button, and never find a soul in the house, only Aunt M'riar. You try!
'Ammer away!" There was a _faux air_ of self-justification in this,
which did not bear analysis. Possibly Micky thought so himself, for he
vanished up the Court. He would at least be able to bring a false alarm
if any critical juncture arose.

The ex-convict watched him out of sight, and then knocked at the door,
and waited. The woman inside had been listening to his voice with a
quaking heart--had known it for that of her truant husband of twenty
years ago, through all the changes time had made, and in spite of such
colour of its own as the prison taint had left in it. And he stood there
unsuspecting; not a thought in his mind of who she was, this Aunt
M'riar! Why indeed should he have had any?

She could not trust her voice yet, with a heart thumping like that. She
might take a moment's grace, at least, for its violence to subside. She
sat down, close to the door, for she felt sick and the room went round.
She wanted not to faint, though it was not clear that syncope would make
matters any the worse. But the longer he paused before knocking again,
the better for Aunt M'riar.

The knock came, a _crescendo_ on the previous one. She _had_ to respond
some time. Make an effort and get it over!

"That * * * young guttersnipe's given me a bad