Thyrza

; black shadows were sharp edged upon the yellow pavement. Between the bridges of Westminster and Lambeth the river was a colourless gleam; but in th

t eyes, thin, straight nose, large lips constantly drawn inwards, made a physiognomy impressive rather than pleasing. The cast of thought was upon it; of thought eager and self-tormenting; the mark of a spirit ever straining after something unattainable. At moments when he found satisfaction in reading the legend on some monument his eyes grew placid and his beetling brows smooth

o strong. Then he looked hither and thither with absent gaze, and at length bent his steps in the direction of Westminster Bri

nder his arm. It was a young workman of three- or four-and-twenty, tall, of wiry fra

at

as the other's reply, as he gave the volume to be exam

ace and plenty of intelligence, something at the same time not quite satisfactory if one looked for strength of character; he smiled readily and had eyes which told of quick but un

. 'You ought to go and have a look there to-night. I saw one

ng the work on electricity, which he had gl

ce,' Ackroyd replied, laugh

artling to the eye, sufficiently indicated the scope and quality of the m

to spare,' he said, with a smile, 'if

You don't need it, but there

f thing Bunce gives hi

's made them learn a secularist's cre

il, not caring to pursue the discussion. 'I'd a goo

yd la

sently, 'about lectures by a Mr. Egremo

hat le

me from Oxford or Cambridge, and he's going

itic

ng to do wit

ther laugh-louder this

about and ask what they can do to keep the people quiet. Lectures on literature! Fools! As if that wasn't just the way to remind us o

give them?' G

o be going round to get men to hear

what sort of

d young foo

l sm

m the foot of Lambeth Bridge, turned into a district of small house

tive of the thoroughfare midway. The street at that time-in the year '80-began by the side of a graveyard, no longer used, and associated in the minds of those who dwelt around it with numberless burials in a

reached the railway

s shop,' he said; 'I've got

od

from the Trent

med about to add something, but checked him

s was painted in characters of faded red: 'The Little Shop with the Large Heart.' Little it certainly was, and large of heart if the term could be made to signify an abundant stock. The interior was so p

possible that anything sold here should preserve its native savour. The air swarmed with flies, spite of the dread example of thousands that lay extinct on sheets of smeared newspaper. On the counter, among other things, was a perspiring yellow mass, retailed under the name of butter; its destiny hovered

wordy good-humour which she always had at command, she derived from this evening garb a social superiority which friends and neighbours, whether they would or no were constrained to recognise. She was deemed a well-to-do woman, and as such-Paradise Street held it axiomatic-might reasonably adorn herself for the respect of those to whom she sold miscellaneous pennyworths. She did not depend upon the business. Her husband, as we already know,

'it's like a breath o' fresh air to look at you, I'm sure. If this kind o'

e had finished her laugh. 'I heard Mr. Boddy pl

s just practisin' a new pi

t with a thoughtful, interesting face. Her smile was brief, and always passed into an expression of melancholy, which in its turn did not last long; for the most part she seemed occupie

o twinkle into a smile. He wore a suit of black, preserved from sheer decay by a needle too evidently unskilled. Wrapped about a scarcely visible collar was a broad black neckcloth of the antique fashion; his one shoe was cobbled into shapelessness. Mr. Boddy's s

an understand. I haven't life enough in me to drive away a fly as settles on my nose. It's all very well for you to laugh, Mr

dressed th

ould be glad to have you do a little job for

forth his stump

man as finds you work; that's the philosophy as has come o' my three-score-and-nine

rmation

lay me a trick now and then. Ask me about things as happened fifty years ago, and I'll serve you as well as the almanac. It's the same

truck out with spirit 'The

eps up my courage; this old timber o' mine stumps time on the pavement, and I feel I'm go

w through a few

ine tone, too. I suppose the older

you can just remember him; you was a little 'un when he'd use to crawl round from the work'us of a Sunday to the "Green Man." When he went into the 'Ouse he give the fiddle to

nt; but not better than somebody e

w Trent was Matthew Trent, an' Lambeth 'll never know another like him. He was made o' music! When did you hear any man

Ackroyd asked with much interest

er. It was me as taught her it, to be sure,

t in Mrs. Bower. 'She was four yea

ed since then. On that day I had my shop in the Cut, and I had two legs like other mortals. Things wasn't doing so bad with me. Why, it's like yesterday to remember. My wife she come a-r

rked Mrs. Bower. 'Why, where Jim Ca

ory was familiar to him, indeed; but Mr. Boddy talk

t a face he had! Thyrza was frighted and cried; Lyddy just held on hard to my hand, but she didn't cry. I don't remember to a' s

' more like her fath

-how my wife did laugh!-she looks at me for a long time, an' then she says: "How is it, Mr. Boddy," she says, "as you've got one eyelid lower than the other?" It's true as I have a bit of a droop in the right eye, but it's not so much as any

d the shop, and M

any one as her sister,' said Ackroyd, looking a

ething-I don't think she's as easy to understand as Lydia.

spoke, and smiled gently. A

lad put into petticoats. I should think there's a-goin' to be a feast over in Newport Street. A tin o' sardines, four bottles o' ging

a going about with her so

al harm of her,' said her mother,

lic!' exclaimed Ackroyd.

her thought much about religion. I dessay there's some good pe

s expressing l

ong, if only they'll go and confess it to the priest? I wouldn't trust an

to draw Mary from her wonted reticence. Her q

d with good-na

at kind of thing, Miss Bower. You wouldn't

girl answered; 'but I wouldn't let them

ld have expressed her opinion

ined, 'but what right have you to say that thei

religion at all,' Mary replied with coldness

d Mr. Boddy, 'the faith's the great thing.

n a brief, offended glan

lookin' at it but I can't see neither as the

, Mrs. Bower,' said

ith laughter and kindness blent in their dark depths. The cheeks were warm with health; the lips and chin were strong, yet marked with refinement; they told of independence, of fervid instincts; perhaps of a temper a little apt to be impatient. It was not an imaginative countenance, yet alive with thought and feeling-all, one felt, ready at the moment's nee

kroyd fallin' out again,

herself. Her eyes passed quickly over Ackroyd's face

ld talk-abo

f they left that alone,' sh

uke. 'It's about the most unprofit

r tea?' Mrs. Bowe

r. Thyrza 'll think I'm never coming home. I only looked

rose t

tell him you'll look i

d, thank you; no fear

leave-taki

' Lydia asked, movin

as keeps the world a-goin

to go to work this morning, but she couldn't make up her

tryin'!' sigh

is morning to ask if I could give her a bit of help. She's going to Margate on Monday, and there we've been all the afternoon trimming new

if-you k

exclaimed, looking round at the others. '

ay I do,

Mary. I don't like t

uldn't come too,' said M

, at all events, and we'll see

ng back a bright look as

that Ackroyd stood there, apparently waiting for her. He was turning over the leaves of one of

ffidence, 'that your sister woul

pt her e

e answered. 'I'll ask her; I do

be like la

well. And I can't promis

along the street There was a faint smile on h

u will

, I

ower voice, and

she won't go

with her. D

sks me to

f to leave him,

'll say a word f

eyes again and

thing against y

at the end of the Walk

kept making nervous movements with his head. So busy were his thoughts that he unconsciously passed the door of the