“Well, if I can’t have the door opened I’d best give up trying,” she said all at once. Her hands were fatigued with knocking, and her feet with kicking. She was hoarse, and her eyes ached with the hot tears that had poured from them. She came to herself with a sudden sense of shame--she who was so strenuous in her opposition to a fuss. She had no sense of cold now, her shawl hung off her shoulders with the fervour of her efforts. “My word, but I’ll give it to those lasses,” was the next thing Joan said: and then she laughed at herself to carry off her sense of shame. “We’re both in the same box, Harry,” she said, “well! two together isn’t so bad as one alone; come back to the washhouse. I’m glad I told them to light that copper--if it wasn’t a providence! we’ll sit us down there and keep warm; and don’t you take on, my lad. It’s not so very long to day.” When she recovered, however, it was Harry’s turn. He followed her back to the copper without a word. He even pulled the bench on which the tubs stood close to that centre of warmth for her, and got her something on which to put her feet. By this time a certain pleasure in the novelty of the situation had arisen in Joan’s mind. “My word, I made a fine noise. Mother will be in a terrible way, that’s the worst of it. As for father I’ll pay him out. Don’t you be afraid; he’ll repent the night he meddled with Joan; and I’ll give it to the maids. Just as likely as not he’s taken away the key; but bless us all, what’s the good of being a woman if you can’t find out a way? I’d have done it if he’d stood over me with a drawn sword. But, Harry, you never speak a word. Are you cold? come and sit here by me on the warmest side. ’Twill be as cosy here as if you were in a pie; and I’ll give you a bit of my shawl. Come, lad! pluck up a heart: I’ve nigh cried my eyes out; but that does no good. I can’t see you, Harry; but I know you’re down, though I can’t see.” “Down!” he said, “Can a fellow be anything but down with a raging wild beast for a father, and shut out of every shelter through a cold spring night.” “That’s very true,” said Joan, “and I’m no example, as you’ve seen; but still I’m in the same box if that’s any consolation.” “No, it is no consolation,” said Harry; “it makes it worse; for if you are here perishing of cold it’s all on my account.” “I’m not perishing of cold. I’m as hearty as a cricket. If he thinks he’ll break my spirit he’s much mistaken; and that’s all about it. It did touch me the first minute. I feel that I was just a big baby. But after all, Harry, if you will stay out till all the hours of the night, and go to that ‘Red Lion,’ which is known to have ruined many a lad----” “Oh, hold your tongue about the ‘Red Lion!’--you are as bad as old Isaac. Where am I to go?”