At length, between his fits of coughing, he was overtaken by sleep. The night was chilly after the warm day. The sun went down, and the stars peeped out serenely upon the frowzy and wretched tramp asleep against the haystack; and the dew settled thickly on his ragged beard and tattered clothes. Every now and then he was shaken by his cough; but he was weary, and remained asleep. And, in his sleep, the past came back more vividly than it had ever re-visited him in his waking hours. He seemed to be present at the despoiling and ill-using of a dark-eyed child, whom he might have delivered, and did not; and, from time to time, he moved uneasily in his sleep, and groaned aloud. Thus passed the night; and, in the morning, Jake, being found by the farm people, in his place against the haystack, delirious, and evidently ill, was conveyed to the workhouse. The next day "the Golden Shoemaker" received word that a man who was dying in the workhouse begged to see him at once. "Cobbler" Horn ordered his closed carriage, and drove to the workhouse without delay. The man, who was Jake, the tramp, had not long to live. His delirium was over now, and he was quite himself. His eyes were fixed eagerly upon the face of "Cobbler" Horn, as the latter entered the room. "Are you 'the Golden Shoemaker'?" he asked. "So I am sometimes called," replied "Cobbler" Horn, with a smile. "Well--I ain't got much time--I'm the bloke wot stole your little 'un; me and the old woman." "Cobbler" Horn uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Yes. The old woman's gone. She died in quod. I don't know what they had done to her. Perhaps nothink: maybe her time was come. I warn't that sorry; she'd got to be a stroke too many for me. But I want to tell you about the little 'un. I'm a going to die, and it 'ull be as well to get it off my mind. There ain't no mistake; cos I see'd it in the paper, and it tallies. I've got it here." As he spoke, he drew from beneath his pillow the crumpled piece of newspaper on which he had read of the restoration of Marian to her father. "There," he said, "yer can read it for yerself." "Cobbler" Horn took the paper, and glanced at its contents. He had seen in various newspapers, if not this, several similar accounts of the adventures of his child. "Ah," he said, handing back to the man the greasy and crumpled paper, "tell me about it." "Well, you knows that field where you found one of her shoes?" "Yes."