‘Oh, no, it won’t, honey,’ replied her companion. ‘You won’t go to do any think so foolish agin. Why, you’ve as near lost yer life as possible. It wore jest touch and go with yer, wern’t it, Mrs Benson?’ ‘That it wure, indeed,’ said that worthy. ‘And you’re too fine a gal to throw yerself away in sich a fashion, yer should leave that sorter thing to the poor gutter drabs. My Garge, ’e found yer and brought yer ’ome, and I’ve no doubt you’ve fine friends as will be real glad to git yer back agin!’ ‘No, I haven’t. I have no friends,’ said Nell. ‘What, no father nor mother?’ exclaimed her hostess. ‘Pore gal! But I daresay you’ve got a young man, or if yer ’aven’t yer’ll git one. You’re much too fine a gal to go beggin’. And whatever made yer think of makin’ an ’ole in the water puzzles me. Now, you jest wrap this blanket right round yer, and drink this posset. ’Tain’t to yer taste, p’r’aps, but ’tis the best thing out to warm your blood arter a soakin’.’ She held a filthy mug, filled with a filthy but steaming decoction of treacle and beer to Nell’s lips as she spoke, and the girl opened her mouth mechanically and took it all in. Then, sickened of life and everything in it, including the treacle posset, she rolled herself in the blanket, and with her face towards the fire, sunk into a sleep of exhaustion and despair. Garge, true to his trust, sneaked round at about midnight to ask what news there was of his patient, and was delighted in his rough way to hear that she had recovered. ‘She _is_ a beauty!’ he exclaimed, as he gazed at her pale face, on which the light of the burning logs was playing; ‘a rale rare ’un, that’s wot I thinks! Don’t yer let that fire out afore the morning, mother, for she’ll feel cold when she wakes though it is so ’ot; and now, wasn’t I wise to bring ’er ’ome, ’stead of the perlice station. I bet yer’ll make a pot of money over this, mother, ’stead of the coppers takin’ it. Well, good-night, and don’t yer let ’er go till I’ve seen ’er agin in the mornin’.’