Beatrice was silent, her slender frame was rent by emotion.
“O God!” she groaned—but in her deep despair she could not find thoughts even for prayers.
“You may go, policeman,” said Potts; “my daughter will come with me.”
“Faith and I’m glad! It’s the best thing for her;” and the policeman, much relieved, returned to his beat.
“Some of you’ll have to pay for them winders,” said the cabman.
“All right,” answered Potts, quietly.
“There is your home for to-night, at any rate,” said Potts, pointing to the house. “I don’t think you have any chance left. You had better go in.”
His tone was one full of bitter taunt. Scarce conscious, with her brain reeling, and her limbs trembling, Beatrice entered the house.