'Nothing all day! I'm sure I didn't know it! I'm poor, sir--you don't know how poor--but she shan't starve in my house.' 'I suppose she didn't like to speak of it; but get her something as soon as you can.' 'I will, sir; I'll fix her some tea and broth right off.' 'Well, do, as quick as possible. I'll pay you for your trouble.' 'I don't want any pay, sir,' she replied, as she turned and darted from the doorway as nimbly as if she had not been fat and forty. She soon returned with the tea, and I gave it to the sick girl, a spoonful at a time, she being too weak to sit up. It was the first she had tasted for weeks, and it greatly revived her. After a time, the doctor came. He felt her pulse, asked, her a few questions in a low voice, and then wrote some simple directions. When he had done that, he turned to me and said: 'Step outside for a moment; I want to speak with you.' As we passed out, we met the woman going in with the broth. 'Please give it to her at once,' I said. 'Yes, sir, I will; but, gentlemen, don't stand here in the cold. Walk up into the parlor--the front-room.' We did as she suggested, for the cellar-way had a damp, unhealthy air. The parlor was furnished in a showy, tawdry style, and a worn, ugly, flame-colored carpet covered its floor. A coal-fire was burning in the grate, and we sat down by it. As we did so, I heard loud voices, mingled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, in the adjoining room. Not appearing to notice the noises, the doctor asked: 'Who is this woman?' 'I don't know; I never saw her before. Is she dying?' 'No, not now. But she can't last long; a week, at the most.' 'She evidently has the consumption. That damp cellar has killed her; she should be got out of it.' 'The cellar hasn't done it; her very vitals are eaten up. She's been beyond cure for six months!' 'Is it possible? And such a woman!' 'Oh! I see such cases every day--women as fine-looking as she is.' A ring came at the front-door, and in a moment I heard the woman coming up the basement stairs. I had risen when the doctor made the last remark, and was pacing up and down the room, deliberating on what should be done. The parlor-door was ajar, and as the woman admitted the new-comers, I caught a glimpse of them. They were three rough, hard-looking characters; and one, from his unsteady gait, I judged to be intoxicated. She seemed glad to see them, and led them into the room from whence the noises proceeded. In a moment the doctor rose to go, saying: 'I can do nothing more. But what do you intend to do here? I brought you out to ask you.' 'I don't know what _can_ be done. She ought not to be left to die there.'