One day she returned to the matter of her former prophecy. "You've had enough of this," she said. "When you get out of bed, and get your strength back, you'll be at the old game again. You see!" During this time Tom left for work regularly at half-past seven, and returned regularly at half-past six; and each evening he insisted on turning his dollar in to David, to be spent under David's direction. One night, as Tom was giving frightful punishment to an imaginary opponent with the boxing gloves--he had redeemed them with part of his second day's pay--several coins slipped from his pocket and went ringing upon the floor. When Tom rose from picking them up David's thin face was gazing at him in sorrowful accusation. The boy paled before the look. He was silent for a moment. Then he asked mechanically, almost without breath: "What's de matter?" "Haven't you been stealing from your employers?" David asked, in a low voice. The boy's colour came back. "No I ain't. Honest." "Then where did you get that money?" "Why--why, Kate Morgan give it to me. She t'ought I might want to buy a few extry t'ings." David was unconvinced, but from principle he gave Tom the benefit of the doubt. He had the instinctive masculine repugnance to accepting money from a woman; so a moment later, when Kate came in, he said to her: "I want to thank for you for loaning that money to Tom. I understand and appreciate--but I don't need the money. You must take it back." "What money?" she asked blankly. She turned about on Tom, who was sitting at the foot of the bed where David could not see him. The boy's face was very white, and he was hardly breathing. He looked appealingly at her. Kate's face darkened. "Tom," she said sharply, "I told you not to tell that!" When she had gone, David called Tom to him and took his hand. "I beg your pardon, Tom," he said. Tom made no answer at all. All these days, when David was not chatting with Kate, or reading about the love of the fair mill-girl and the mill-owner's son, he was wanly staring into his future. He longed for the day when he could begin search again--and that day was also his great fear. Often he lay thinking for hours of Helen Chambers. He thought of the lovers she must have; of her marriage that might not be far off; of the noble place she would have in life--honoured, admired, a doer of good. He would never meet her, never speak to her--never see her, save perhaps as he had been doing, from places of shadow. Well ... he prayed that she might be happy! CHAPTER VI TOM IS SEEN AT WORK