the less for us to do; and winter was creeping in on us. So up to London
we came; for says Robert: "They'll let us starve here, for aught I can
see: they'll do naught for us; let us do something for ourselves." So up
we came; and when all's said, we had better have lain down and died in
the grey cottage clean and empty. I dream of it yet at whiles: clean,
but no longer empty; the crockery on the dresser, the flitch hanging from
the rafters, the pot on the fire, the smell of new bread about; and the
children fat and ruddy tumbling about in the sun; and my lad coming in at
the door stooping his head a little; for our door is low, and he was a
tall handsome chap in those days.--But what's the use of talking? I've
said enough: I didn't steal the loaves--and if I had a done, where was
the harm?

_J. N_. Enough, woman? Yes, and far more than enough. You are an
undefended prisoner. You have not the advantage of counsel, or I would
not have allowed you to go on so long. You would have done yourself more
good by trying to refute the very serious accusation brought against you,
than by rambling into a long statement of your wrongs against society. We
all have our troubles to bear, and you must bear your share of them
without offending against the laws of your country--the equal laws that
are made for rich and poor alike.

_A Voice_. _You_ can bear _her_ troubles well enough, can't you, old fat
guts?

_J. N_. (_scarcely articulate with rage_). Officer! officer! arrest that
man, or I will arrest you!

[USHER _again makes a vain attempt to get hold of some one_.