"Five shillings," said his wife timidly; "five shillings a-week." "'Tain't enough," said Mr Jarker; "it's worth six. Look at the trouble." Mrs Jarker looked from her husband to the stranger and back again, and was about to speak, when her lord exclaimed roughly, "Shut Up!" The visitor's eyes flashed for a moment, and then she glanced hastily round the room, her gaze resting for a moment upon the ruffianly, bull-dog face of Jarker, and she hesitated; but another glance at the timid, gentle countenance of his wife seemed to reassure her, and she said hoarsely, with her look fixed upon the flinching woman, "I'll give you six." "And if 'tain't paid up reg'lar, I'm blest if I sha'n't chuck it outer winder, or somethin'; so look out," said Mr Jarker. The visitor's lips quivered, but, still gazing fixedly upon the woman, she said in the same hoarse voice: "I shall bring the money once a-week." "In advance, yer know," growled Mr Jarker. "Yes, yes; only be kind to it," exclaimed the visitor with something like a sob, but without removing her eyes. "O, ah! in course we will. We're the right sort here, ain't we, Poll?" growled Mr Jarker. "Yes, Bill," said his wife in a husky whisper. "And now," said Mr Bill Jarker, with what was meant for a pleasant smile, but which consisted of the closing of his eyes, and the display of his teeth,--"and now as we've made it all snug, you'll stand somethin'; that's what you'll do, ain't it now?" Still without removing her eyes from the pale-faced woman before her, the visitor drew a shilling from a little bead-purse, and laid it upon the table, her lips now moving as if trying to form words for Mrs Jarker to understand. "Go away now, Bill," whispered she to her husband. "What for?" growled Bill, untying the knots of his handkerchief with his teeth, to set his cage at liberty, and nearly frightening the soul out of the tiny, fluttering, panting body contained therein. Then, by way of reply to a whisper, he sullenly took the shilling from the table, bit it, spat upon it, and spun it up, before depositing it in his pocket; made his way to the back part of the attic, where birdcages and the paraphernalia of his profession lay thick; ascended a ladder to a trap in the ceiling, and then, only his legs visible as he stood upon one of the top rounds, Mr Jarker, with half his body above the tiles, busied himself amongst his pigeons, and started them for a flight over the houses. The next moment, after a hurried glance at the ceiling, where the light streamed down past the ruffian's legs, the visitor's face was seen to work, and, rising from her seat, she went down upon her knees before poor Mrs Jarker, kissing her work-worn hands, and bathing them with the tears that streamed from her eyes. "God--God bless you!" she whispered passionately. "O, be kind to it!"