Just then, her husband stirred in his sleep; and Mary, hastily repeating, “Call again on Tuesday, and you shall have it,” closed the door, and went to his bedside. “They are a proud set,” said Mudge to himself, as he descended the rickety staircase, which nearly caused him to stumble,—“they are a proud set; and they say pride and poverty always go together. But, if the rent isn’t ready on Tuesday, their pride will be likely to meet with a fall, or my name isn’t Mudge.” Perceiving that her husband still slept, the artist’s wife took up her work, and began to ply her needle busily. The work she had received from the slop-shop consisted of shirts, for which she received ninepence apiece. She had taken a bundle of six, which, when completed, would amount to a little less than a crown. By great diligence, she could make three of these in two days; which would give them an income of not quite seven shillings per week. Of this sum, one half was obliged to go for the rent of the miserable room in which they lodged. By and by, Arthur awoke from the deep sleep in which he had been plunged, and looked around him. “It is late,” said he: “the sun is already high; and I must to work.” He dressed himself hastily, and partook of the food which his wife had prepared for him. The next day passed; and Monday afternoon brought to Mrs. Elliott the sad conviction that she had miscalculated as to the rapidity with which she could perform her work, and that she would not, after all, be prepared to meet Mr. Mudge with the rent on the day following. Knowing his unfeeling nature, she could not doubt that he would insist on their instantly vacating the apartment. This was to be avoided at all hazards. She knew her husband’s high spirit; and she feared for the consequences, if Mr. Mudge should be insolent. Full of this thought, she took a light gold chain, which in happier days her husband had presented to her, and proceeded, with reluctant step, to the pawnbroker’s. It was drawing towards evening; and she hurried through the streets, scarcely daring to look to the right hand or to the left, lest she might meet with some interruption. Solomon Fagin, a Jew, who fully sustained the reputation of his race, as an avaricious man wholly devoted to the love of gain, stood, with a cringing expression on his drawn-up features, behind the counter of his shop in David’s Alley. He was trafficking, or rather seemed to have just closed a sale, with a young gentleman well dressed and of prepossessing appearance. The latter made way politely for Mary, who was too much pre-occupied to acknowledge his courtesy. “How much will you advance me on this?” asked she, hurriedly, extending the chain, which had originally been purchased for two guineas. Solomon looked in her face cunningly, as if to estimate, by the degree of anxiety she displayed, how little he might venture to offer.