I was able to bring you here. An old gentleman and an unknown woman! What decent hotel would have taken in the pair of us! He, he! I know my own knowing."
But Miriam made no protest. She ate and drank ravenously. Mr. Barton sipped his wine and watched her. Occasionally he gave utterance to the peculiar chuckle which had wakened her before. The same uncanny feeling came again upon her. She could not shake it off.
"I wish now I had left you to Jabez," she said suddenly.
"Indeed, why?—that is the sort of speech which I should not make if I were you, more especially whilst you are consuming meat and drink of mine. Why do you wish such a thing?"
"Because I think you are very wicked."
"Wicked—how? Surely I have fed you. I have ordered for you a comfortable bed, and, what's more, if you answer satisfactorily the questions I am going to put to you, I intend to procure for you a situation—how then am I wicked?"
"I don't know—but I feel that you are. You remind me of a rat, and I loathe rats! I can see that woman who has gone feels as I do."
"Perhaps. Still she obeys me."
Miriam rose and took up her shawl.
"I am going," she said curtly.
"Indeed. I think you will also obey me, Miriam. Sit down I say."
He pointed to a chair. She strove not to meet his eye, but his gaze compelled her. Their eyes met, and, for a moment, were in desperate conflict. Then the woman sat down. She was in a cold perspiration, and was trembling too.
"That's right—I thought you would. Go back to Jabez would you?—well, we shall see."
"I thank you for what you have given me, Mr. Barton; but I feel under no obligation to you, since I saved your life. The obligation, if any, is yours. But we will cry quits, if you please."
"Not at all—as you say, it is my turn now. Let the benefits come from me, and the—well, the gratitude from you."
"Mr. Barton, understand I wish nothing from you. Allow me to go."
"Where, back to Jabez—the man who murders strangers because you starve? No, my good young lady. It is for me to save your Jabez from the gallows by retaining you—that is if——By the way, what is your full name?" he asked abruptly.
His eyes were full upon her again. She felt herself unable to shake off their horrid fascination; all power of resistance seemed to leave her.
"My name is Miriam Crane," she said faintly.
"And what are you?"
"The daughter of a sea captain."
"H'm—respectable enough on the face of it. And how do you come to be in this plight?"
"When my mother died, my father left me in a seaport town in charge of a friend of his, having paid my board for a year. He was lost at sea, and I was turned out of doors by his friend. I came to London thinking to get some engagement as a governess."
"Oh, you are well educated then?"
"Sufficiently so to teach children. But without influence or references I could get nothing. My small stock of money soon went. I pawned everything I had, even my clothes. I even tried to make a living by selling flowers, but I could not. Everywhere I went, in everything I did, I was unlucky. I sank and sank until——"
"Until right down at the bottom I suppose you met this Jabez of yours. He is your lover?"
"He does love me," blazed forth Miriam, "but I am an honest woman."
"Naturally," Barton chuckled, "otherwise with your beauty you certainly would not be starving. Why are you so honest?"
"I believe in God," her eyes sought his searchingly. "You don't," she said.
"Perhaps not—nevertheless, I am honest too."
"That depends what you call honest," retorted Miriam. "You have plenty of money, no doubt, so you can't very well help behaving so as to keep your freedom. But for that——"
She hesitated, but gave him quite clearly to understand her meaning.
"'Perhaps' again," said Barton. "You mean to say that I have not sufficiently strong incentive to be anything else—that if I had, that if I were a poor man for instance, I should probably land in prison."
"I am quite sure you would."
"Dear me, you seem to have made up your mind about me very definitely—it hasn't taken you long either."
"I judge by your face. As I read it, it is a page of devil-print!"
Barton rubbed his hands. He seemed more tickled than anything else. Certainly he was in no wise offended.
"I believe I have found a real pearl in the gutter," he chuckled. Then he turned to her,
"Tell me now, why did you save me from your Jabez?"
"I did not know you then—perhaps if I had, your body would now be lying in the river."
"And my soul—what about that?"
"You should know—if you are a man and not an animal."
"You are mistaken, young lady—you think me a libertine, no doubt——"
"Oh, nothing of the kind—you are too hard even for that. If I had any doubt about it, I should not be here with you now."
"Well, well, let us hope that after a little longer acquaintance your opinion of me will improve. For the present I wish to befriend you all I can—that at least should be a point in my favour."
"But why—why, I ask, should you wish to befriend me? What is your object?"
"That you shall know when the times comes. Let us resume your very interesting story."
"You have heard it. I told you I met Jabez, and that he loves me. I suspected when he went out to-night that he was desperate—that he might steal, murder even, if by so doing he could obtain food for me—that is why I followed him, to save him, and, as it happened, I did save him, and you too."
"And the boy who acted a jackal to your lion—who is he?"
"Shorty—oh, he is a wicked little creature, who ought by rights to be in a reformatory."
"Indeed. Now please attend to me, Miss Crane. I am no philanthropist, nor am I a fool, and you yourself seem willing to acquit me of any amatory intentions. You will easily believe then that it is from no feeling of sentiment that I have brought you here to-night. One strong dose of that kind of thing has lasted me through life. I suffered badly at the hands of your sex once, but once only. I am never likely to suffer again. Nevertheless, I confess that if it had not been for your beauty, I should have left you there on the bridge."
"I am not beautiful," contradicted Miriam.
"No?—well,
