“Aye, it is!” returned the girl; not speaking, but pouring out the words in one continuous and vehement scream. “It is my living; and the cold, wet, dirty streets are my home; and you’re the wretch that drove me to them long ago, and that’ll keep me there, day and night, day and night, till I die!”

“I shall do you a mischief!” interposed the Jew, goaded by these reproaches; “a mischief worse than that, if you say much more!”

The girl said nothing more; but, tearing her hair and dress in a transport of passion, made such a rush at the Jew as would probably have left signal marks of her revenge upon him, had not her wrists been seized by Sikes at the right moment; upon which, she made a few ineffectual struggles, and fainted.

“She’s all right now,” said Sikes, laying her down in a corner. “She’s uncommon strong in the arms, when she’s up in this way.”