“I’ll try,” said Martha, “if you’ll help me away. I never can do worse than I have done here. I may do better. Oh!” with a dreadful shiver, “take me out of these streets, where the whole town knows me from a child!”

As Em’ly held out her hand to Ham, I saw him put in it a little canvas bag. She took it, as if she thought it were her purse, and made a step or two forward; but finding her mistake, came back to where he had retired near me, and showed it to him.

“It’s all yourn, Em’ly,” I could hear him say. “I haven’t nowt in all the wureld that ain’t yourn, my dear. It ain’t of no delight to me, except for you!”

The tears rose freshly in her eyes, but she turned away and went to Martha. What she gave her, I don’t know. I saw her stooping over her, and putting money in her bosom. She whispered something, as she asked was that enough? “More than enough,” the other said, and took her hand and kissed it.