"I don't see the difference," she retorted, still with offence. "I beg your pardon, then," said Stephen. "I promise you I won't interfere next time." So saying, he turned, took up his shutter, and proceeded to close his shop. The young woman walked on. Stephen gave an inward growl or two at the depravity of human nature, and set out to make his usual visits; but before he reached the place, he had begun to doubt whether the old Adam had not overcome him in the matter of boxing the boy's ears; and the following interviews appeared in consequence less satisfactory than usual. Disappointed with himself, he could not be so hopeful about others. As he was descending a stair so narrow that it was only just possible for two people to pass, he met the same young woman ascending. Glad of the opportunity, he stepped aside with his best manners and said: "I am sorry I offended you this evening. I did not know that the boy was your brother." "Oh, sir!" she returned--for to one in her position, Stephen Archer was a gentleman: had he not a shop of his own?--"you didn't hurt him much; only I'm so anxious to save him." "To be sure," returned Stephen, "that is the one thing needful." "Yes, sir," she rejoined. "I try hard, but boys will be boys." "There is but one way, you know," said Stephen, following the words with a certain formula which I will not repeat. The girl stared. "I don't know about that," she said. "What I want is to keep him out of prison. Sometimes I think I shan't be able long. Oh, sir! if you be the gentleman that goes about here, couldn't you help me? I can't get anything for him to do, and I can't be at home to look after him." "What is he about all day, then?" "The streets," she answered. "I don't know as he's ever done anything he oughtn't to, but he came home once in a fright, and that breathless with running, that I thought he'd ha' fainted. If I only could get him into a place!" "Do you live here?" he asked. "Yes, sir; I do." At the moment a half-bestial sound below, accompanied by uncertain footsteps, announced the arrival of a drunken bricklayer. "There's Joe Bradley," she said, in some alarm. "Come into my room, sir, till he's gone up; there's no harm in him when he's sober, but he ain't been sober for a week now." Stephen obeyed; and she, taking a key from her pocket, and unlocking a door on the landing, led him into a room to which his back-parlour was a paradise. She offered him the only chair in the room, and took her place on the edge of the bed, which showed a clean but much-worn patchwork quilt. Charley slept on the bed, and she on a shake-down in the corner. The room was not untidy, though the walls and floor were not clean; indeed there were not in it articles enough to make it untidy withal. "Where do you go on Sundays?" asked Stephen. "Nowheres. I ain't got nobody," she added, with a smile, "to take me nowheres." "What do you do then?"