But, still he pitied her and almost justified her; for he knew what poverty and its bitter temptations were, and besides, while his charity was large his moral sense was not very clear; and, poor as he was, he would have lost every pocket-handkerchief he possessed before he would have prosecuted this miserable old woman, or even withheld from her the tri-weekly half-penny or the quarterly sixpence. Now, when the vague idea of “_disappearance_” shaped itself into the distinct thought of ABDUCTION, and the thought grew into a purpose, and the purpose strengthened into resolution, he remembered the old woman under St. Mary’s le Strand, and believed that he could make her subservient to his use. One rainy day he went out at noon for the usual recess. It was a day and an hour when there were comparatively few passengers in the street. He went in search of the old woman whom he found in her accustomed place, but backed up close against the wall to secure some partial shelter from the pelting rain. “Have you no umbrella—not even an old wreck of one?” were the first words addressed to her by Everage. “Umberrelly? Bless the dear gentleman, I never had a umberrelly in my life! How should the likes of me have a umberrelly? They bees for the rich people, honey.” “But your knees are getting quite wet,” said Everage. “And so they is, dear gentleman, and I shall get the rheumatiz as sure as sure!” said the woman, taking the cue and beginning to whine. “I shouldn’t be surprised if you did. Why do you sit out here in this weather?” “Good gentleman, hadn’t I better sit here and sell my matches than stay at home and starve?” “Sell your matches? Why, that’s the identical box of matches you have had to sell for Heaven knows how long, and you haven’t sold it yet.” “That is true; but, dear gentleman, I might sell them to-day—I might sell them any time! There is no telling when a stroke of luck might fall.” Everage knew she was speaking deceitfully; but he not only found excuses for her, but he found in her words an opening for his proposition. “Yes,” said he, “you are quite right. There is no telling when a streak of luck may fall—even this very day.” “It has come this very day, good gentleman. Sure the sight of your handsome face is always lucky; and it is worth while to come out and sit in the rain for the chance of seeing it, if one should get no other good.” “The sight of my face may be lucky to others; but the luck is only skin deep; it never strikes in to do the owner any good,” laughed Everage, as he dropped a sixpence in the hag’s hand. “Oh! thanky, sir! Sure you’re the great binifactor of the poor! May the Lord——” and here she began a great string of blessings to which a bishop’s benediction would seem a trifle. “That will do. Now tell me your name. You see as long as I have known you I have never heard it.”