"Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod. . . ."
The door was opened by the Jew himself, who, assuming a severe manner, said something to me in his guttural voice which I did not hear or heed, for I pushed past him and walked firmly upstairs.
When I had reached my room and lit the gas, I closed and locked the door, as if I were preparing to commit a crime—and perhaps I was.
I did not allow myself to think of what I intended to do that night, but I knew quite well, and when at one moment my conscience pressed me hard something cried out in my heart:
"Who can blame me since my child's life is in danger?"
I opened my trunk and took out my clothes—all that remained of the dresses I had brought from Ellan. They were few, and more than a little out of fashion, but one of them, though far from gay, was bright and stylish—a light blue frock with a high collar and some white lace over the bosom.
I remember wondering why I had not thought of pawning it during the week, when I had had so much need of money, and then being glad that I had not done so.
It was thin and light, being the dress I had worn on the day I first came to the East End, carrying my baby to Ilford, when the weather was warm which now was cold; but I paid no heed to that, thinking only that it was my best and most attractive.
After I had put it on and glanced at myself in my little swinging looking-glass I was pleased, but I saw at the same time that my face was deadly pale, and that made me think of some bottles and cardboard boxes which lay in the pockets of my trunk.
I knew what they contained—the remains of the cosmetics which I had bought in Cairo in the foolish days when I was trying to make my husband love me. Never since then had I looked at them, but now I took them out (with a hare's foot and some pads and brushes) and began to paint my pale face—reddening my cracked and colourless lips and powdering out the dark rings under my eyes.