"Well, good bye, girl," kindly. "Try and lead a better life. I wish I could have given you work."
"It was only for Benny that I cared, Sir."
"You're sick? Or"—
"It'll not last long, now. I only keep myself alive eating opium now and then. D' ye know? I fell by your hall to-day; had a fit, they said. It wasn't a fit; it was death, Sir."
He smiled.
"Why didn't you die, then?"
"I wouldn't. Benny would have known then, I said,—'I will not. I must take care o' him first.' Good bye. You'd best not be seen here."
And so she left him.
One moment she stood uncertain, being alone, looking down into the seething black water covered with ice.
"There's one chance yet," she muttered. "It's hard; but I'll try,"—with a shivering sigh; and went dragging herself along the wharf, muttering still something about Benny.