He got into the shelter of a doorway and took stock of himself.  He was not hurt, and he was not arrested—­more than he had any right to expect.  He swore at himself and his luck for a while, and then turned his thoughts to practical matters.  He had no money, and no place to sleep; he must begin begging again.

He went out, hunching his shoulders together and shivering at the touch of the icy rain.  Coming down the street toward him was a lady, well dressed, and protected by an umbrella; and he turned and walked beside her.  “Please, ma’am,” he began, “could you lend me the price of a night’s lodging?  I’m a poor working-man—­”

Then, suddenly, he stopped short.  By the light of a street lamp he had caught sight of the lady’s face.  He knew her.

It was Alena Jasaityte, who had been the belle of his wedding feast!  Alena Jasaityte, who had looked so beautiful, and danced with such a queenly air, with Juozas Raczius, the teamster!  Jurgis had only seen her once or twice afterward, for Juozas had thrown her over for another girl, and Alena had gone away from Packingtown, no one knew where.  And now he met her here!

She was as much surprised as he was.  “Jurgis Rudkus!” she gasped.  “And what in the world is the matter with you?”

“I—­I’ve had hard luck,” he stammered.  “I’m out of work, and I’ve no home and no money.  And you, Alena—­are you married?”

“No,” she answered, “I’m not married, but I’ve got a good place.”

They stood staring at each other for a few moments longer.  Finally Alena spoke again.  “Jurgis,” she said, “I’d help you if I could, upon my word I would, but it happens that I’ve come out without my purse, and I honestly haven’t a penny with me:  I can do something better for you, though—­I can tell you how to get help.  I can tell you where Marija is.”

Jurgis gave a start.  “Marija!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Alena; “and she’ll help you.  She’s got a place, and she’s doing well; she’ll be glad to see you.”

It was not much more than a year since Jurgis had left Packingtown, feeling like one escaped from jail; and it had been from Marija and Elzbieta that he was escaping.  But now, at the mere mention of them, his whole being cried out with joy.  He wanted to see them; he wanted to go home!  They would help him—­they would be kind to him.  In a flash he had thought over the situation.  He had a good excuse for running away—­his grief at the death of his son; and also he had a good excuse for not returning—­the fact that they had left Packingtown.  “All right,” he said, “I’ll go.”

So she gave him a number on Clark Street, adding, “There’s no need to give you my address, because Marija knows it.”  And Jurgis set out, without further ado.  He found a large brownstone house of aristocratic appearance, and rang the basement bell.  A young colored girl came to the door, opening it about an inch, and gazing at him suspiciously.