I had put the letter in my pocket, and had seized the shoes and was going out of the room; but I stopped, took a sovereign from my purse, placed it in an envelope bearing my own address which I chanced to find in my pocket, and, putting it into her hand, I said, ’Here is my address and here is a sovereign.  I will tell your friend below to come for me or send whenever you need assistance.’  The woman clutched at the money with greed, and I left the room, signalling to Sinfi (who stood on the landing, pale and deeply moved) to follow me downstairs.  When we reached the wretched room on the ground-floor we found the girl hanging some wet rags on lines that were stretched from wall to wall.

‘What is your name?’ I said.

‘Polly Unwin,’ replied she, turning round with a piece of damp linen in her hand.

‘And what are you?’

‘What am I?’

‘I mean what do you do for a living?’

‘What do I do for a living?’ she said.  ’All kinds of things—­help the men at the barrows in the New Cut sell flowers, do anything that comes in my way.’

‘Never mind what she does for a livin’, brother,’ said Sinfi; ’give her a gold balanser or two, and tell her to see arter the woman.’

‘Here is some money,’ I said to the girl.  ’See that Mrs. Gudgeon upstairs wants for nothing.  Is that story of hers true about her daughter and Llanbeblig churchyard?’

’That’s true enough, though she’s a wunner at a lie:  that’s true enough.’

But as I spoke I heard a noise like the laugh or the shriek of a maniac.  It seemed to come from upstairs.

‘She’s a-larfin’ ag’in,’ said the girl.  ’It’s a very wicked larf, sir, ain’t it?  But there’s wuss uns nor Meg Gudgeon for all ’er wicked larf, as I knows.  Many a time she’s kep’ me from starvin’.  I mus’ run up an’ see ‘er.  She’ll kill herself a-larfin’ yit.’

The girl hurried upstairs and I followed her, leaving Sinfi below.  I re-entered the bedroom.  There was the woman, her face buried in the pillow, rocking and rolling her body half round with the regularity of a pendulum.  Between the peals of half-smothered hysterical laughter that came from her, I could hear her say: 

’Dear Lord Jesus, don’t forget to love dear Henry who can’t git up the gangways without me.’

The words seemed to fall upon my heart like a rain of molten metal dropping from the merciless and mocking skies.  But I had ceased to wonder at the cruelty of Fate.  The girl went to her and shook her angrily.  This seemed to allay her hysterics, for she rolled round upon her back and stared at us.  Then she looked at the envelope clutched in her hand, and read out the address,