In the heart of this cluster of huts, and skirting the river, which its upper stories overhung, stood a large building formerly used as a manufactory of some kind, and which had in its day probably furnished employment to the inhabitants of the surrounding tenements. But it had long since gone to ruin. The rat, the worm, and the action of the damp, had weakened and rotted the piles on which it stood, and a considerable portion of the building had already sunk down into the water beneath, while the remainder, tottering and bending over the dark stream, seemed to wait a favourable opportunity of following its old companion, and involving itself in the same fate. It was before this ruinous building that the worthy couple paused as the first peal of distant thunder reverberated in the air, and the rain commenced pouring violently down. “The place should be somewhere here,” said Bumble, consulting a scrap of paper he held in his hand. “Halloa there!” cried a voice from above. Following the sound, Bumble raised his head, and descried a man looking out of a door, breast-high, on the second story. “Stand still a minute,” cried the voice; “I’ll be with you directly.” With which the head disappeared, and the door closed. “Is that the man?” asked Mr. Bumble’s good lady. Mr. Bumble nodded in the affirmative. “Then, mind what I told you,” said the matron, “and be careful to say as little as you can, or you’ll betray us at once.” Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with very rueful looks, was apparently about to express some doubts relative to the advisability of proceeding any farther with the enterprise just then, when he was prevented by the appearance of Monks, who opened a small door, near which they stood, and beckoned them inwards. “Come!” he cried impatiently, stamping his foot upon the ground. “Don’t keep me here!” The woman, who had hesitated at first, walked boldly in without any further invitation, and Mr. Bumble, who was ashamed or afraid to lag behind, followed, obviously very ill at his ease, and with scarcely any of that remarkable dignity which was usually his chief characteristic. “What the devil made you stand lingering there in the wet?” said Monks, turning round, and addressing Bumble, after he had bolted the door behind them. “We—we were only cooling ourselves,” stammered Bumble, looking apprehensively about him. “Cooling yourselves!” retorted Monks. “Not all the rain that ever fell, or ever will fall, will put as much of hell’s fire out as a man can carry about with him. You won’t cool yourself so easily, don’t think it!” With this agreeable speech Monks turned short upon the matron, and bent his fierce gaze upon her, till even she, who was not easily cowed, was fain to withdraw her eyes, and turn them towards the ground. “This is the woman, is it?” demanded Monks. “Hem! That is the woman,” replied Mr. Bumble, mindful of his wife’s caution.