“She’s all right, Silas. I thought maybe you ’ad killed ’er.” “It’s what she wants, the damned canting sheeny. It’s bad enough to have her in the street without her daring to set foot inside my door. I’ll cut the hide off that young Willie. He’s the cause of it all. Where is he?” “They ran up to their room. I heard them lock the door.” “A lot of good that will do them.” “I wouldn’t touch ’em now, Silas. The neighbours is all up and about and we needn’t ask for trouble.” “You’re right!” he grumbled. “It will keep till I come back.” “Where are you goin’?” “Down to the Admiral Vernon. There’s a chance of a job as sparrin’ partner to Long Davis. He goes into training on Monday and needs a man of my weight.” “Well, I’ll expect you when I see you. I get too much of that pub of yours. I know what the Admiral Vernon means.” “It means the only place in God’s earth where I get any peace or rest,” said Silas. “A fat lot I get--or ever ’ave ’ad since I married you.” “That’s right. Grouse away!” he growled. “If grousin’ made a man happy, you’d be the champion.” He picked up his hat and slouched off down the street, his heavy tread resounding upon the great wooden flap which covered the cellars of the brewery. * * * * * Up in a dingy attic two little figures were seated on the side of a wretched straw-stuffed bed, their arms enlacing each other, their cheeks touching, their tears mingling. They had to cry in silence, for any sound might remind the ogre downstairs of their existence. Now and again one would break into an uncontrollable sob, and the other would whisper, “Hush! Hush! Oh hush!” Then suddenly they heard the slam of the outer door and that heavy tread booming over the wooden flap. They squeezed each other in their joy. Perhaps when he came back he might kill them, but for a few short hours at least they were safe from him. As to the woman, she was spiteful and vicious, but she did not seem so deadly as the man. In a dim way they felt that he had hunted their mother into her grave and might do as much for them. The room was dark save for the light which came through the single dirty window. It cast a bar across the floor, but all round was black shadow. Suddenly the little boy stiffened, clasped his sister with a tighter grip, and stared rigidly into the darkness. “She’s coming!” he muttered. “She’s coming!” Little Margery clung to him. “Oh, Willie, is it mother?” “It is a light--a beautiful yellow light. Can you not see it, Margery?” But the little girl, like all the world, was without vision. To her all was darkness. “Tell me, Willie,” she whispered, in a solemn voice. She was not really frightened, for many times before had the dead mother returned in the watches of the night to comfort her stricken children. “Yes, yes, she is coming now. Oh, mother! Mother!” “What does she say, Willie?”