‘I don’t want that girl running her head into any more danger. ” She growled. I had a hunch. “You are neither of you in the least like the ordinary boarding-house young man. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. "I won't trouble you further, Jack," he remarked. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. . . “I will tell you something if you like. .
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