to for help and protection. The doctor was
the first friend I thought of; but I knew he
was always out seeing his patients of an
afternoon. The beadle was the next person
who came into my head. He had the look
of being a very dignified, unapproachable
kind of man when he came about the inquest;
but he talked to me a little then, and said I
was a good girl, and seemed, I really thought,
to pity me. So to him I determined to apply
in my great danger and distress.

Most fortunately I found him at home.
When I told him of the landlord's infamous
threats, and of the misery I was in in consequence
of them, he rose up with a stamp of
his foot, and sent for his gold-laced cocked-hat
that he wears on Sundays, and his long cane
with the ivory top to it.

"I'll give it him," said the beadle. "Come
along with me, my dear. I think I told you
you were a good girl at the inquest—if I
didn't, I tell you so now. I'll give it to him!
Come along with me."

And he went out, striding on with his
cocked-hat and his great cane, and I followed
him.

"Landlord!" he cries the moment he gets
into the passage, with a thump of his cane
on the floor. "Landlord!" with a look all
round him as if he was king of England calling
to a beast, "come out!"

The moment the landlord came out and
saw who it was, his eye fixed on the cocked-
hat and he turned as pale as ashes.

"How dare you frighten this poor girl?"
said the beadle. "How dare you bully her
at this sorrowful time with threatening to do
what you know you can't do? How dare
you be a cowardly, bullying, braggadocio of
an unmanly landlord? Don't talk to me—I
won't hear you! I'll pull you up, sir! If
you say another word to the young woman,
I'll pull you up before the authorities of this
metropolitan parish! I've had my eye on
you, and the authorities have had their eye
on you, and the rector has had his eye on
you. We don't like the look of your small
shop round the corner; we don't like the
look of some of the customers who deal at it;
we don't like disorderly characters; and we
don't by any manner of means like you. Go
away! Leave the young woman alone! Hold
your tongue, or I'll pull you up! If he says
another word, or interferes with you again,
my dear, come and tell me; and, as sure as
he's a bullying, unmanly, braggadocio of a
landlord, I'll pull him up!"

With those words, the beadle gave a loud
cough to clear his throat, and another thump
of his cane on the floor—and so went striding
out again before I could open my lips to
thank him. The landlord slunk back into
his room without a word. I was left alone
and unmolested at last, to strengthen myself
for the hard trial of my poor love's funeral
to-morrow.

March 13th. It is all over. A week ago,
her head rested on my bosom. It is laid in
the churchyard now—the fresh earth lies
heavy over her grave. I and my dearest
friend, the sister of my love, are parted in
this world for ever.

I followed her funeral alone through the
cruel, bustling streets. Sally, I thought,
might have offered to go with me; but she
never so much as came into my room. I did
not like to think badly of her for this, and I
am glad I restrained myself—for, when we
got into the churchyard, among the two or
three people who were standing by the open
grave, I saw Sally, in her ragged grey shawl
and her patched black bonnet. She did not
seem to notice me till the last words of the
service had been read, and the clergyman had
gone away. Then she came up and spoke to
me.

"I couldn't follow along with you," she
said, looking at her ragged shawl; "for I
hav'nt a decent suit of clothes to walk in.
I wish I could get vent in crying for her,
like you; but I can't; all the crying's been
drudged and starved out of me, long ago.
Don't you think about lighting your fire
when you get home. I'll do that, and get
you a drop of tea to comfort you."

She seemed on the point of saying a kind
word or two more, when, seeing the Beadle
coming towards me, she drew back, as if
she was afraid of him, and left the churchyard.

"Here's my subscription towards the
funeral," said the Beadle, giving me back his
shilling fee. "Don't say anything about it,
for it mightn't be approved of in a business
point of view, if it came to some people's
ears. Has the landlord said anything more
to you? No, I thought not. He's too polite
a man to give me the trouble of pulling him
up. Don't stop crying here, my dear. Take
the advice of a man familiar with funerals,
and go home."

I tried to take his advice; but it seemed like
deserting Mary to go away when all the rest
forsook her. I waited about till the earth was
thrown in, and the man had left the place—
then I returned to the grave. Oh, how bare
and cruel it was, without so much as a bit of
green turf to soften it! Oh, how much
harder it seemed to live than to die, when I
stood alone, looking at the heavy piled-up
lumps of clay, and thinking of what was
hidden beneath them!

I was driven home by my own despairing;
thoughts. The sight of Sally lighting the
fire in my room eased my heart a little.
When she was gone, I took up Robert's letter
again to keep my mind employed on the only
subject in the world that has any interest for
it now. This fresh reading increased the
doubts I had already felt relative to his
having remained in America after writing to
me. My grief and forlornness have made a
strange alteration in my former feelings about
his coming back. I seem to have lost all my