The next morning Helen got up early, gave Robin his breakfast of cold ham which she had bought in slices, tea and bread and butter. She also made a capital meal herself. Having washed and put away their poor breakfast service, which consisted of a cracked old sugar-basin, a black tea-pot with half a spout, a dinner plate, pewter spoon, and old knife, she proceeded to tidy herself, and to put on some garments of a more respectable nature than those she wore on ordinary occasions. She also made Robin as smart as her resources would permit. Then taking his hand she went out, locking the attic door behind her. It was Sunday, and when Helen and Robin got into the street, they saw some groups of happy-looking children on their way to Sunday school. "Are we goin' in the big ship to-day, mother?" enquired the little boy. "May-be, may-be, my pet; but don't talk of it," answered Helen. Her face had an anxious expression to-day; she looked nervously behind her more than once. Her fine spirits of the night before had completely deserted her. The two walked on for some time in silence. Then Helen hailed a passing omnibus, and mounted on the roof with Robin. This omnibus took them as far as the Bank. As they passed St. Paul's, they heard the sweet sound of the bells calling them, and such as them, to worship God; but neither woman nor child listened or heeded; they were bound on a very different errand. When they arrived at the Bank, Helen again took Robin's hand, and walked quickly with him through the quiet and deserted city into a very different region. Here she was in well-known quarters, and here she saw plenty of life and movement. No Sabbath calm met her here. It was church time--a time when no costermonger who valued his liberty would dare to remain selling his oranges in Holborn or Westminster; but here, in Mitre Street, Aldgate, the law which teaches man to pay some outward respect to the Sabbath seemed neither to be enforced nor regarded. The shops from end to end were widely open; the shopkeepers boldly proclaimed their goods; buyers were bidding, fighting, and pushing their way to newly-discovered bargains. The streets were actually swarming with costermongers, who sold cherries, strawberries, ices, and every conceivable and inconceivable eatable. This busy scene caused Helen not the least surprise; she walked steadily on through the crowd, nodding now and then to a chance acquaintance, but entering into conversation with no one. Anybody who watched her face would have seen that the nervous expression was more marked there--that she started when each fresh friend addressed her--that she seemed feverishly anxious to reach her destination.