They passed before him in varied array; ugly, and pretty, and mediocre; fair girls and dark girls, stout girls and thin ones, tall and short, stupid and intelligent-looking. Here and there a pale, pensive face, with a head of flaxen hair, and long, delicate, Madonna-like features; now a brunette, with high complexion, and flashing black eyes, that showed the brighter under the thick white powdering of cotton fluff with which her head was covered; _piquante_ and placid, merry and melancholy; but not for one in all the crowd did his cheek flush in the least, not once did the calm indifference in his eyes change, nor did his low, careless whistle cease for an instant. He stared over or between their heads, or--which was the most irritating of all--right at them, without once noticing them, until a girl, somewhat taller than the majority of her companions, came in, and stood waiting with a group of others near the door, until her turn should come to go up for her wages. Then Myles stopped whistling, and got off his stool, remarking, half to himself, ‘There’s Mary, at last!’ and applied to Wilson for the sum of eighteen shillings, that being the amount of his sister’s wages. He received the money, and made his way through the crowd towards the door. ‘Eh, Myles, art there?’ said the young woman. ‘Wait of me a minute, while I get my wages.’ ‘They’re here,’ said he, putting the money into her hand. ‘So come along, lass! Let’s get out of this shop.’ They passed out at the door, and walked together down the sloping street--a tall and well-looking pair. It was very seldom, indeed, that Myles Heywood and his sister Mary failed to walk home from their work together. FOOTNOTES: [1] ‘Baggin’ is not only lunch, but any accidental meal coming between two regular ones. CHAPTER II. BEFORE THE STORM. ‘And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry.’ It was August of the year 1861--the year succeeding that which might almost be called the apotheosis of the cotton trade. The goods of Lancashire were piled in every port; her merchants were a byword for riches and prosperity. ‘Cotton lords’--the aristocracy of the land--that grimy, smutty, dingy, golden land, whose sceptre was swayed by King Cotton.