the cradle, were three cots; upon the pillows of two were the grimy blond heads of two older children; but one child, the eldest, a girl, had fallen asleep in her chair; her head, pillowed on her arms, lay amid the unwashed dishes of the table, half-hidden by the large leaves of a newspaper sprawled loosely across.
“Sh-sh-sh, the babe, the babe,” Mrs. Ryan was murmuring, holding up with her left hand a corner of a little blanket; and then, looking beneath her arm at the sound of entering feet, she caught sight of the sinister figure behind her. She whirled around, in one bound placed herself before the beds, her face lit up with a white ferocity; and she shot both clenched hands forward in a movement half sign of aversion, half blow. Collins shrank from the gesture.
“Go away,” she cried, “from this room. Get out of sight of these children, you”—her breast swelled, then the words came slowly, drawn deep from her thick chest—“you murrdhering monster!”
Collins clenched his fist and scowled at Ryan,
