Langly turned from the bed and walked slowly to the door without a word, Braunt following him with his lowering, bloodshot eyes. The young man paused irresolutely at the door, leaned his arm against it, and bowed his head in hopeless anguish. “Heaven help me!” he said, despairingly, “I loved her too.” Braunt looked at him a moment, not comprehending at first. Gradually the anger faded from his face. “Did you so, lad?” he said gently, at last. “I didn’t know--I didn’t know. Forgive me my brutish temper. God knows it should be broken by this time. I’m crazy, lad, and know not what I say. I have not a penny-piece in the world, nor where to go to get aught. My lassie shall not have a pauper’s funeral in this heartless town. No, not if I have to take her in my arms, as I ha’ oft done, and trudge wi’ her to the North, sleeping under the hedges by the way. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. We’ll be tramping to the _Dead March_ then. It will keep us company. We’ll rest at night in the green fields under the trees, away from the smoke and din, alone together. Ah, God! I’ll begin the journey now and tramp all night to be quit o’ this Babylon ere the morning.” “No, no!” cried Langly, catching his arm. “You mustn’t do that. You must hear what the coroner says.” “What has the coroner or any one else to do with me or her?” “It is the law: you must obey it.” “What care I for the law? What’s it done for either me or Jessie? I’ll have no pauper funeral, law or no law.” “There won’t be a pauper funeral. There are kind hearts in London, as well as in the North. Promise me you’ll do nothing until I see if I can get the money.” “I promise,” said Braunt, sinking into his chair. “I doubt if I could walk far to-night, even if I tried. But leave me now, lad, and come back again later. I want to be alone and think.” Langly left the room, and on the landing met Marsten, whom he did not know, but who he saw was about to enter. “Don’t go in,” he whispered. “He wants to be alone.” “Is there anything wrong?” asked Marsten, alarmed at the tone of the other. “Yes, his daughter is dead.” “Dead! Good God! How? An accident?” “No. She has been ill for weeks, but no one thought of this. Jessie died about an hour since--unexpectedly. Are you a friend of his?” “Yes.” “Then you must help me--tell me what to do. Come down into the court where we can talk.” The two young men descended the stair. “Braunt has no money, and he will not have his daughter buried by the Parish. We must get money. I have promised it, but I have very little myself, although I will willingly give all I have. If it was more I would not ask help from any one.”