The stage manager came out from the wings, and taking her hand led her off. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. "I am very wicked," she said. " "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. Above was a spacious hall, connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. ‘There is no question of a dispute. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. CHAPTER II. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him.
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