Downstairs a kindly neighbour was in charge of the house; presently she came upstairs to Faith and bent over her. "A gentleman, dearie. I told him you couldn't see anyone, but he seemed so distressed. I promised to tell you. He says he must see you, and such a nice gentleman he is." Faith turned her face away. "I can't! I don't want anyone! Leave me alone!" The woman sighed and went away, and presently another step ascended the narrow stairs--a man's heavier step. Faith was crouched against the bed, facing the door, her eyes closed, her cheek pressed to the sleeping hands to which she clung. Someone spoke her name through the silent room: "Faith!" and then again, with deepest pity: "Faith!" The girl did not move. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, and that the voice had spoken in her dream. Then as she looked up with a wild hope that it was so--that all the past hour would prove to be nothing but a terrible nightmare--her dazed, piteous eyes met those of the Beggar Man. All his life Nicholas Forrester remembered that room with its sloping roof and poor furniture, and the sleeping twins lying on the bed, with Faith, little more than a child herself, crouched on the floor beside them. Hot evening sunshine shone through the narrow window and fell right upon the motherless little group, as with a stifled exclamation he went forward and, stooping, lifted Faith to her feet. "My poor little girl," he said, keeping his arms round her, and though she made no effort to resist him, she stood apathetically enough, only turning her head away when he would have kissed her. He broke out into incoherent explanations. "I only got to Liverpool last night. We ran into a fog-bank and had to reduce speed. I tried to let you know but it seemed hopeless. I came as quickly as I could." She heard what he said disinterestedly, wondering why he chose to make explanations at all, and when he had finished she looked at him with dazed brown eyes. "Mother is dead; did they tell you?" "The woman downstairs told me. I can't tell you how grieved I am. If I had only been here. If I had only been able to help." The girl looked at him blankly; he had a kind face she thought, even as she had thought that time of their first meeting, but now she knew that he was not really kind or anything that he looked. He was Scammel who had ruined her father, Scammel for whose sake all those girls at Heeler's factory worked and sweated, and made money whereby to enrich him. "I don't know why you came here, anyway," she said helplessly. He flushed and bit a lip, but he answered gently enough: "I came straight to you, of course! Who had a better right! Have you forgotten so soon that you are my wife?" She held out her bare left hand. "I sent your ring back. I am sorry I ever married you. It's all over and done with." He took but little notice of her words. He knew that she was overwrought and broken-hearted, and that it was no time now to press his claim.