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“Indeed isn’t she welcome; and a shame it is for any lady to send such a delicate cratur out with a baby in her arms.”

When Fanny entered and saw the stairs she had so often, in her childhood, trodden, the tears started to her eyes; and, when her baby waked, and would not be quieted without food from her breast, she perceived the women exchanging significant nods and looks, and overcome by weakness and a gush of emotion, she burst into hysterical sobbings.”Poor young cratur! poor young cratur! God help you!” exclaimed the woman, with a true Irish gush of feeling: “and what is’t you’re wanting? Here’s a drink of milk; take it, honey dear; it will strengthen you better than whiskey. We’ve done with that, thank God and Father Matthew.”

Fanny made a violent effort, calmed herself, drank the milk, and asked if a cab could not be got for her. There was one passing, and at the next instant she was in it, and driving to Broome-street. She found the house, but the O’Roorkes had flitted, and in another and distant quarter of the city, she found the second dwelling to which she was directed. Again they had moved, and whither, no one could tell; and feeling as if the last plank had gone from under her feet, she returned to her home. Home! alas, that sacred word had now no meaning to poor Fanny. She had scarcely entered her room and thrown herself on the sofa with her baby, when Mrs. Tilden, her remarkably red-faced landlady, threw open the door and said—

“Are you back? I did not expect you alone.”

“Not expect me alone? What do you mean?”

“Why it’s customary for some kind of folks, you know, when they lose one husband, to take another.”

Fanny looked up; a sickening feeling came over her; the words she would have answered died away on her lips.

“I suppose you are sensible,” continued Mrs. Tilden, “that honest folks must be paid just debts, and as there’s no finding that Mr. Stafford of yours, I have ‘strained upon your wearing apparel, that being answerable for rent as well as furniture; and all the furniture belonging to me already, except the sofa and the Psyche, and the vases and the dressing case,—them things will help out, but the whole quarter’s rent, and eight days over, is due.”

Fanny said nothing.

“I am never ungenerous to nobody. So I have taken out enough baby linen to serve you, and a change for yourself—the rest is under my lock and key, and I shall keep it, may be, a month or more before I sell it; and if Mr. Stafford pays me in that time—and I don’t misdoubt he will, sooner or later—but them kind of fine gentlemen are slow coaches in
paying, you know, but I don’t question his honor; he has always been highly honourable to me; and I have been highly honourable to him; he is a real gentleman, there’s no mistake—as I was saying, as soon as he pays me, you shall have your things—or——the worth of them again; you shall have it all, bating some little reward for my trouble—the Psyche, or dressing-case—or so.”

“Well,” said Fanny, perceiving Mrs. Tilden had paused for an answer.

“Well,” that’s all—only if you and I can agree, you can stay down stairs, as a boarder——till”

“No—not a moment—only let me remain in the room to-night, and to-morrow I will try to find a service place.”

“A service place! My service to you!” said Mrs. Tilden, with a sort of ogress grin.

“Oh, don’t look so at me! Mrs. Tilden, do you think, that, after all, I have any pride?”