"You have been entrapped before. We will be on our guard this
time. Now, my man," to the hero of the rags and tatters, "lead on; we
follow."
The boy darted away, and Mr. Ingelow with Mollie's hand drawn through
his arm, set off after him at a rapid rate.
CHAPTER XXVI.
MIRIAM'S STORY.
A miserable attic chamber, dimly lighted by one dirty sky-light, a
miserable bed in one corner, a broken chair, an old wooden chest, a
rickety table, a few articles of delf, a tumble-down little cook-stove.
That was the picture Mollie Dane saw, standing on the threshold of
Miriam's room.
There was no deception this time. On that wretched bed lay the broken
and bruised figure of the woman Miriam, dying.
Her deep, labored breathing was painfully audible, even outside the
room; her strong chest rose and fell--every breath torture.
By her side sat the mother of the ragged boy, holding a drink to her
lips, and coaxing her to open her mouth and try to swallow.
In vivid contrast to all this poverty and abject wretchedness, the young
girl in the door-way stood, with her fair, blooming face, her fluttering
golden ringlets, her rich silken garments, and elegant air.
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