“I’ll do you no harm,” said he, gently. “Goodness knows I’ve done harm enough in my time.”
The last words, though muttered to himself, did not escape the quick ear of the woman, and they pleased her. She was used to strange characters in her place, seeking a night’s shelter before escaping to America, or while hiding from justice. It was neither her habit nor her business to answer questions. All she asked was to be let alone and paid for her lodgings. She knew Reginald had her in a sense at his mercy, for he knew the disease the man had died of, and a word from him out of doors would bring her own pestiferous house about her ears and ruin her.
But when he muttered those words to himself she concluded he was a criminal of some sort in hiding, and criminals in hiding, as she knew, were not the people to go and report the sanitary arrangements of their lodgings to the police.
So she mollified towards him somewhat, and told him she would look after her affairs if he looked after his, and as he had not had a good night last night, well, if no one else wanted the bed to-night he could have it at half-price; and after that she hoped she would have done with him.
Reginald returned to the foul garret, and found Love still asleep, but tossing restlessly, and muttering to himself the while.
He sat down beside him and waited till he opened his eyes.
At first the boy looked round in a bewildered way as though he were hardly yet awake, but presently his eyes fell on Reginald and his face lit up.
“Gov’nor,” he said, with a smile, sitting up.
“Well, old boy,” said Reginald, “what a long sleep you’ve had. Are you rested?”
“I ’ave ’ad sich dreams, gov’nor, and—my, ain’t it cold!” And he shivered.