"Make that woman go away," she said, under her breath.

"Come, mum," said Jenkyns, shaking the widow, "you and me 'ud better come up and rekerniter-see the doors and windows is all fast and that-or we shall be having a surprise not over pleasin'. Come, ac-cept of my

arm."

"I won't keep him long from ye, dame," sobbed the widow. "Oh, hark; oh, hark!"

No sooner had they left Joan to herself than the face of stone grew suddenly human. Great tears came into her eyes, and, stretching out her arms towards the window, with a look of ineffable love and pity, she fell upon her knees.

"Oh, my poor souls! Oh, my poor, poor souls! My heart is broke for you!-my heart is broken in twain!"

She sobbed with passion, her cheek laid to the ground, and her hair, which she had clutched at till it fell, lying over the stones in front of her.

She lay there some minutes, while gradually the shower of stones ceased, and heavy feet came clattering down

the area steps, and fierce blows began to fall on the window and the door.

Little Dick had lain back on his pillow, pale and sick with fright.

Now Jenkyns, being a great friend of Dick's, and one in whom he had more confidence than in any one besides (except his father), the child was much grieved and alarmed at not hearing his voice for so long.

At last he mustered up courage to pull his little cribcurtain, and peep tearfully out into the great room, full of shadows and lights.

Then Dick saw a sight that filled his little heart with wonder and vague terror.

He saw, standing by his father's machine model, the cover of which was off, a woman, having in her hand a thing like that which his stepmother and Jenkyns used for chopping firewood. The woman was, it seemed to Dick, wondrously like his stepmother, yet wondrously unlike when he tried to persuade his fearful little heart that it was her. Her lips were parted over her teeth, yet she did not seem to be laughing. Her hair covered her

houlders, her eyes were so bright they made Dick's wink more than looking at the candle did.

Just above the machine there hung a picture of Holofernes lying asleep in his tent, and Judith looking at

him.

Now as Dick raised his eyes to that, it struck him that the woman by his father's model was more like Judith in the picture than his stepmother. She looked down on the machine just as Judith looked down on Holofernes.

Dick had heard the story, and knew what Judith had done to Holofernes after looking at him like that, and his heart began to quake for what was going to happen to his father's cherished treasure.

Presently he stood erect by the crib, and in another instant, spite of the clamouring at the door and window, the bare, rosy feet pattered boldly across the room.

He took hold of the woman's skirts.

She shrieked and started back, as if his touch had

burned her.

“Ha! did thy mother send thee ?" she moaned.

the very angels of heaven against me ?"

"Are

Then suddenly and wildly she caught him up in one

arm.

"Nay, they send thee to bear a part in saving thy father," she said; and, to the child's terror and amazement, she went to the besieged door, undid the fastenings, and flung it wide open.

"Back!" cried she, extending her hand palm outwards towards the fierce faces with a gesture at once commanding

and piteous.

There was tier after tier of these furious faces all up the steps, and the area presented to Joan a sight from which at any other time she would have fled in wildest fear. But now she stood looking at them with a face on which blind prejudice and superstition looked as grand and tender as outraged justice.

Her eyes swam in tears of passionate pity, her lips quivered; her brave, determined attitude and gesture, in the face of a riotous mob, her earnestness, her passion, gave her for the moment all the beauty and grandeur of

L

true heroism.

When she spoke, it was in a strange

mixture of hoarse and strong and sweet shrill tones.

"Masters, a black work has been done in this house,— it shall be undone; but not by you, for to get ye thrown into gaol for rioting. Oh, not by you, but by this hand, masters! this hand, that should have crushed the black work at the beginning! I have been false to ye. I will make ye amends this night, and save him from the poor folks' curse; for, masters, he has put all his heart and soul in this thing, and could never-—no, never—make another, were this destroyed. And shall that not be? Ay, though it ruin me, though it kill me, to cut to pieces the work of a hand so dear. Look, gossips, look, masters, if I keep not the word I have passed you, then to your homes quickly

and peaceably.

Your poor wives are waiting for you, cursing me and mine, perhaps, for the thing that keeps you abroad and in danger. One look, then, to see me make good my word, then away, and good luck be with ye; and, masters, should ye see any from my part, I trust ye'll speak a word for me, saying how, in the end, Joan Merryweather was true to her own poor working folk."