The Night-Cellar XVIII. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. One marked difference between the poor outcast, who, oppressed by poverty, and stung by shame, had sought temporary relief in the stupifying draught,—that worst "medicine of a mind diseased,"—and those of the same being, freed from her vices, and restored to comfort and contentment, if not to happiness, by a more prosperous course of events, was exhibited in the mouth. You dear, dear girl. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. ’ “Crude, I admit. In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. It depends upon what he was before he began this racket. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel.
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