nearest policeman, who had quietly returned her to the shop,
reluctantly, it was admitted, but with the determination of a man whose
very existence depends upon the favor of another. The master had
welcomed her and smiled upon her as upon an erring child. He had sent
her upon an errand into the cellar under the shop, himself unlocking
the door. And that was the last that any one had ever seen of
Florence Magrue.

In addition to fear, the master supplied certain creature comforts, not
lightly to be thrown away. If a girl could make up her mind to accept
shame, bodily injury if she displeased, and a life of toil, she fared
better under Blizzard's direction than her sister who worked for Ecbaum,
let us say, the lacemaker, or Laskar, or any of a thousand East Side
employers of labor. The man could be kind upon impulse, and generous. He
paid the highest wages. He supplied nourishing food at noon, and a
complete hour in which to discuss it. Furthermore, if a girl pleased
him, the work of her hands was subjected to less critical inspection,
and if she had any music in her, he invited her upstairs sometimes to
work the pedals of his grand piano, while his own powerful, hairy hands
rippled and thundered upon the keys. He was of a Godlike kindness when
his mind inclined to music, and the pedalling was skilful and sure. But
let the unfortunate crouched under the key-board, her trembling hands
taking the place of those feet which the master had lost, respond
stupidly to the signals conveyed to her shoulder by graduated pressures
from the stump of his right leg, and punishment of blows, pinchings, and
sarcasms was swift and sure.

The legless man was very much at home in his own house. He had inhabited
it for many years, and its arrangements were the expression of a
creature immensely able and ingenious, but maimed both in body