She went into the best room, already trimmed for to-morrow; the Christmas tree was clustered with gifts and with candles ready for lighting, and the motto was on the top, '_Gott zur hülfe_.' Jane looked it all over, and her lip quivered. 'This is pure and honest, as it says,' said she; 'and _I'm_ a lie myself, cheating father. Christmas to-morrow! 'twon't last long; if _he_ only knew I go to--I won't say the word--would he ever care about me again?' She went into the other room for her shawl. 'Hes my little girl got to go out to-night?' said Adam. 'Well, there's to-morrow. Doan' stay late, Net,' kissing her good-by. She pulled the hood over her face and went out, taking the road to the city, never slackening her pace till the lights along the way grew thicker, and she came upon the pavements. Crossing the great thoroughfare, she turned into a narrow street, and from that descended a short flight of steps into a narrower one lit only by a great lamp in front of a door, with the word '_Tanzhaus_' above it; she went in here unhesitatingly. A large room with a bar on one side, small tables in the middle, and a stage at the farther end; some tables had occupants, drinking and looking at several women dancing on the stage. This was Jane's 'place;' the dance house wanted her face at its tables, and as there was nothing else open, in very desperation she went. She turned into a smaller room where the private tables were, to which she belonged; at first they had tried to teach her to dance, but she would not learn. The furniture was worn, with a slimy polish in spots; an unclean, stifling smell in the air; a few coarse prints of racers and champions hung around; and in one place a drunken artist had sketched one night a Crucifixion on the wall; the owner was angry enough, but something held back his hand from touching it, and it staid there, covered by an old newspaper. As Jane laid away her shawl and hood, a woman came forward to meet her. 'What are you here for?' she said, fiercely; 'this is Christmas eve! there's none for me--I wish I could cry, but my tears are dried up,' snatching her tawdry cap from her head and stamping on it; 'but you're not a devil yet. Go home, if you've got a home! out the back way--quick!' The woman caught her shoulder, pulled away the paper, and pointed to the picture on the wall. 'Look at _that_! When I see that, I think sometimes I'm in hell! What has that got to do with me? Do you want to get out of the reach of that? Go home, go home,' shaking her furiously. 'I can't! I can't!' cried Jane, desperately. 'He won't let me. 'Twas here or the street, I thought; I've been here three weeks, and to-night's no more'n other nights.'