"Father does that often," she rejoined, "often when he's alone. I might not be in the world at all, Alb, for all he thinks of me. Some one robbed him, you know, and just lately he thinks he's found the man in London. What's the good of it all--who's goin' to help a poor Pole get his rights back? Oh, yer bloomin' law and order, a lot we sees of you in Thrawl Street, so help me funny. That's what I tell father when he talks about his rights. We'll take ours home with us to Kingdom come and nobody know much about 'em when we get there. A sight of good it is cryin' out for them in this world, Alb--now ain't it, dear?" Alban was in the habit of taking questions very seriously, and he took this one just as though she had put it in the best of good faith. "I can't make head or tail of things, Lois," he said stoically, "fact is, I've given up trying. Why does my father die without sixpence after serving God all his life, and another man, who has served the devil, go under worth thousands? That's what puzzles me. And they tell us it will all come right some day, just as we're all going to drive motor-cars when the Socialists get in. Wouldn't I be selling mine cheap to-night if anyone came along and offered me five pounds for it--wouldn't I say 'take it' and jolly glad to get the money. Why, Lois, dear, think what we would do with five pounds." "Go to Southend for Easter, Alb." "Buy you a pretty ring and take you to the Crystal Palace." "Drive a pony to Epping, Alb, and come back in the moonlight." "Down to Brighton for the Saturday and two in the water together." "Flash it on 'em in Thrawl Street and make Chris Denham cry." They laughed together and cuddled joyously at a dream so bewildering. Their united wealth that night was three shillings, of which Alb had two and four pence. What untold possibilities in five pounds, what sunshine and laughter and joy. Ah, that the dark court should be waiting for them, the squalor, the misery, the woe of it. Who can wonder that the shadows so soon engulfed them? "Kiss me, Alb," she said at the corner, "shall I see you to-morrow night, dear?" "Outside the Pav at nine. You can tell me how your father took it. Say I hope he'll get his rights. I think he always liked me rather, Lois." "A sight more than ever he liked me, Alb, and that's truth. Ah, my dear, you'll take me away from here some day, won't you, Alb? You'll take me away where none shall ever know, where I shall see the world and forget what I have been. Kiss me, Alb--I'm that low to-night, dear, I could cry my heart out." He obeyed her instantly. A voice of human suffering never failed to make an instant appeal to him. "As true as God's in heaven, if ever I get rich, I'll come first to Lois with the story," he said--and so he bent and kissed her on the lips as gently as though she had been his little sister. CHAPTER III WITHOUT THE GATE