"Oh, never fear that. Didn't I timper it, like 'the wind to the shorn lamb,' just warm enough to wash the faces of the dirty spalpeens, and give them a good fright? How the cowards did run. What were they afraid of? I had spent all my ammunition in the first volley. This is nothing but cold water, and that never hurt anybody. It is a pity the scurvy dogs did not use more of it every day, and nothing else. They would never chase poor girls through the streets, if they drank nothing but water."
"Come, young woman, you can get up now and go home, if you have any to go to, and if you have not, what are you going to do with yourself?"
"Why, Mrs. McTravers, we will take her in and put her to bed, and let her sleep till morning."
"Take her in? What, take a common street-walker in to disgrace your house?"
"Indeed, my dear, good, kind lady," said the object of their conversation, now for the first time speaking. "I am no street-walker—I am not what you take me for. Do not—pray do not, force me to go into the street again to-night. Let me lay here on the door-sill till daylight."
"Never! It shall never be said I refused to give shelter to one of my own sex in distress, no matter what she is or has been. Mrs. McTravers, she must have a bed in the house to-night."
"I should like to know then where you will find it. Every bed in the house is full."
"I will give her mine then, and sleep myself on the floor."
"No, no, no, let me sleep on the floor—on the hearth—on the stones in the back-yard, rather than go in the street again, but I won't sleep in your bed."
"Well, well, come with me to my room. I will make you a bed on the floor, and you shall sleep there."