He had just heard the workhouse clock strike two, when, without the warning of a footstep, the door opened. Amy came in; she wore her dressing-gown, and her hair was arranged for the night.

'Why do you stay here?' she asked.

It was not the same voice as before. He saw that her eyes were red and swollen.

'Never mind. Do you know what time it is?'

'There are many things to cry for.'

'Amy, have you any love for me still, or has poverty robbed me of it all?'

'I have never said that I didn't love you. Why do you accuse me of such things?'

He took her in his arms and held her passionately and kissed her face again and again. Amy's tears broke forth anew.