'A blind owld dame come to the vire, Zo near as she could get; Zays, "Here's a luck I warn't asleep To lose this blessed hett. '"They robs us of our turfing rights, Our bits of chips and sticks, Till poor folks now can't warm their hands, Except by varmer's ricks." 'Then, etc.' And again the boy's delicate voice rung out the ferocious chorus, with something, Lancelot fancied, of fiendish exultation, and every worn face lighted up with a coarse laugh, that indicated no malice-- but also no mercy. Lancelot was sickened, and rose to go. As he turned, his arm was seized suddenly and firmly. He looked round, and saw a coarse, handsome, showily-dressed girl, looking intently into his face. He shook her angrily off. 'You needn't be so proud, Mr. Smith; I've had my hand on the arm of as good as you. Ah, you needn't start! I know you--I know you, I say, well enough. You used to be with him. Where is he?' 'Whom do you mean?' 'He!' answered the girl, with a fierce, surprised look, as if there could be no one else in the world. 'Colonel Bracebridge,' whispered Tregarva. 'Ay, he it is! And now walk further off, bloodhound! and let me speak to Mr. Smith. He is in Norway,' she ran on eagerly. 'When will he be back? When?' 'Why do you want to know?' asked Lancelot. 'When will he be back?'--she kept on fiercely repeating the question; and then burst out,--'Curse you gentlemen all! Cowards! you are all in a league against us poor girls! You can hunt alone when you betray us, and lie fast enough then? But when we come for justice, you all herd together like a flock of rooks; and turn so delicate and honourable all of a sudden--to each other! When will he be back, I say?' 'In a month,' answered Lancelot, who saw that something really important lay behind the girl's wildness. 'Too late!' she cried, wildly, clapping her hands together; 'too late! Here--tell him you saw me; tell him you saw Mary; tell him where and in what a pretty place, too, for maid, master, or man! What are you doing here?' 'What is that to you, my good girl?' 'True. Tell him you saw me here; and tell him, when next he hears of me, it will be in a very different place.' She turned and vanished among the crowd. Lancelot almost ran out into the night,--into a triad of fights, two drunken men, two jealous wives, and a brute who struck a poor, thin, worn-out woman, for trying to coax him home. Lancelot rushed up to interfere, but a man seized his uplifted arm. 'He'll only beat her all the more when he getteth home.' 'She has stood that every Saturday night for the last seven years, to my knowledge,' said Tregarva; 'and worse, too, at times.' 'Good God! is there no escape for her from her tyrant?' 'No, sir. It's only you gentlefolks who can afford such luxuries; your poor man may be tied to a harlot, or your poor woman to a ruffian, but once done, done for ever.'