“So it's a got-up thing, is it?” said Charlie, and stepping to the counter, he took up a drinking-glass, broke it at the rim; and holding its jagged edges outward, turned to use it as a weapon. John Storm had not yet spoken, but a magnetic instinct warned him. He whistled, and the dog bounded down. The young man threw his broken glass on the floor and cried to the keeper of the house: “Don't stir, you! First you know, the beast will be at yer throat!” Hearing Charlie's voice, Aggie was creeping down the stairs. “Charlie!” she cried. Charlie threw open his coat, stuck his fingers in the armholes of his waistcoat, said in a voice of hatred, passion, and rage, “Go and pawn yourself!” and then swaggered out at the back door. The keeper made show of following, but John Storm called on him to stop. The man looked at the dog and obeyed. “Wot d'ye want o' me?” he said. “I want this girl's baby. That's the first thing I want. I'll tell you the rest afterward.” “Oh, that's it, is it?” The man's grimace was frightful. “It's gone, sir. We've lost it,” said the woman, with a hideous expression. “That story will not pass with me, my good woman. Go upstairs and unlock the door! You too, my man, go on!” A minute later they were in a bedroom above. Three neglected children lay asleep on bundles of rags. One of twelve months' old was in a wicker cradle, one of three years was in a wooden cot, and a younger child was in a bed. Aggie had come up behind, and stood by the door trembling and weeping. “Now, my girl, find your baby,” said John, and the young mother hurried with eager eyes from the cradle to the cot and from the cot to the bed. “Yes, here it is,” she cried. “No--oh no, no!” and she began to wring her hands. “Told yer so,” said the woman, and with a wicked grin she pointed to a memorial card which hung on the wall. Aggie's child was dead and buried. Diarrhoea! The doctor at the dispensary had given a certificate of death, and Charlie had shared the insurance money. “Wish to Christ it was ended!” he had said. He had been drunk ever since. The poor girl was stunned. She was no longer crying. “Oh, oh, oh! What shall I do?” she said. “Who's child is this?” said John, standing over the wicker cradle. The little sufferer from inflamed gums had sobbed itself to sleep. “A real laidy's,” said the woman. “Mrs. Jupe told us to tyke great kear of it. The father is Lord something.” “My poor girl,” said John, turning to Aggie, “could you carry this child home for me?” “Oh, oh, oh!” said the girl, but she wrapped the shawl about the child and lifted it up sleeping. “Now, you down't!” said the man, putting himself on guard before the door. “That child is worth 'undrids of pounds to me, and----” “Stand back, you brute!” said John, and with the girl and her burden he passed out of the house.