gloomy court where tall buildings rose on every hand, huge and very silent, teeming with life—­but life just now wrapped in that profound quietude of sleep which is so much akin to death.  Into one of these tall tenement buildings, its ugliness rendered more ugly by the network of iron fire-escape ladders that writhed up the face of it, Spike led the way, first into a dark hallway and thence up many stairs that echoed to their light-treading feet—­on and up, past dimly lit landings where were doors each of which shut in its own little world, a world distinct and separate wherein youth and age, good and evil, joy and misery, lived and moved and had their being; behind these dingy panels were smiling hope and black despair, blooming health and pallid sickness, and all those sins and virtues that go to make up the sum total of humanity.

Something of all this was in Geoffrey Ravenslee’s mind as he climbed the dingy, interminable stair behind Spike, who presently halted to get his wind and whisper: 

“It ain’t much further now, Geoff, only another two flights and—­” He stopped suddenly to listen, and from the landing above a sound reached them, a sound soft but unmistakable—­a woman’s muffled sobbing.

Slowly, cautiously, they mounted the stair until in the dim light of a certain landing they beheld a slim figure bowed upon its knees in an agony of abasement before a scarred and dingy door.  Even as they stared, the slender, girlish figure sobbed again, and, with a sudden, yearning gesture, lifted a face, pale in the half-light, and kissed that battered door; thereafter, weeping still, she rose to her feet and turned, but seeing Spike, stood very still all at once and with hands clasped tight together.

“Holy Gee!” exclaimed Spike beneath his breath; then, in a hoarse whisper:  “Is that Maggie—­Maggie Finlay?”

“Oh—­is that you, Arthur?” she whispered back.  “Arthur—­oh, Arthur, I, I’m going away, but I couldn’t go without coming to—­to kiss dear mother good-by—­and now I’m here I daren’t knock for fear of—­father.  I’ve been up to your door and knocked, but Hermy’s away, I guess.  Anyway, you—­you’ll say I came to thank her and—­kiss her for the last time, won’t you, Arthur?”

“Sure I will—­but where ye goin’, Maggie?”

“A long way, Arthur!  I don’t s’pose I shall ever—­see this place any more—­or you—­so, Arthur, will you—­kiss me good-by—­just once?”

Spike hesitated, but she, quick and light-treading, came down to him and caught his hand and would have kissed that, but he snatched it away and, leaning forward, kissed her tear-stained cheek, and blushed thereafter despite the dark.

“Good-by, Arthur!” she whispered, “and thank you—­and dear Hermy—­oh, good-by!” So saying, she hurried on past Ravenslee, down the dark stairway, while Spike leaned over the balustrade to whisper: 

“Good-by, Maggie—­an’ good luck, Kid!” At this she paused to look up at him with great, sad eyes—­a long, wistful look, then, speaking no more, hurried on down the stair—­down, down into the shadows, and was gone.