The door grated, as Haley opened it.

“Come, my woman!  Must lock up for t’night.  Come, stir yerself!”

She went up and took Hugh’s hand.

“Good-night, Deb,” he said, carelessly.

She had not hoped he would say more; but the Sired pain on her mouth just then was bitterer than death.  She took his passive hand and kissed it.

“Hur ’ll never see Deb again!” she ventured, her lips growing colder and more bloodless.

What did she say that for?  Did he not know it’!  Yet he would not impatient with poor old Deb.  She had trouble of her own, as well as he.

“No, never again,” he said, trying to be cheerful.

She stood just a moment, looking at him.  Do you laugh at her, standing there, with her hunchback, her rags, her bleared, withered face, and the great despised love tugging at her heart?

“Come, you!” called Haley, impatiently.

She did not move.

“Hugh!” she whispered.

It was to be her last word.  What was it?

“Hugh, boy, not THAT!”

He did not answer.  She wrung her hands, trying to be silent, looking in his face in an agony of entreaty.  He smiled again, kindly.

“It is best, Deb.  I cannot bear to be hurted any more.”

“Hur knows,” she said, humbly.

“Tell my father good-bye; and—­and kiss little Janey.”

She nodded, saying nothing, looked in his face again, and went out of the door.  As she went, she staggered.

“Drinkin’ to-day?” broke out Haley, pushing her before him.  “Where the Devil did you get it?  Here, in with ye!” and he shoved her into her cell, next to Wolfe’s, and shut the door.

Along the wall of her cell there was a crack low down by the floor, through which she could see the light from Wolfe’s.  She had discovered it days before.  She hurried in now, and, kneeling down by it, listened, hoping to hear some sound.  Nothing but the rasping of the tin on the bars.  He was at his old amusement again.  Something in the noise jarred on her ear, for she shivered as she heard it.  Hugh rasped away at the bars.  A dull old bit of tin, not fit to cut korl with.

He looked out of the window again.  People were leaving the market now.  A tall mulatto girl, following her mistress, her basket on her head, crossed the street just below, and looked up.  She was laughing; but, when she caught sight of the haggard face peering out through the bars, suddenly grew grave, and hurried by.  A free, firm step, a clear-cut olive face, with a scarlet turban tied on one side, dark, shining eyes, and on the head the basket poised, filled with fruit and flowers, under which the scarlet turban and bright eyes looked out half-shadowed.  The picture caught his eye.  It was good to see a face like that.  He would try to-morrow, and cut one like it. To-morrow!  He threw down the tin, trembling, and covered his face with his hands.  When he looked up again, the daylight was gone.