I am your servitor. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. It did not occur to her that they at least had found a way of earning a living, and had that much economic superiority to herself. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking. " "What am I to do to earn it?" asked Blueskin, with a disgusting leer,—"cut a throat—or throw myself at your feet—eh, my dear?" "Give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity.
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