cell in which stood the man waiting his new trial. He poured out
his story again, and as Gordon looked sadly through the bars at his
face the certainty of his guilt gave the lie to every fair word.

As his glib tongue rattled on, Gordon's mind was farther and farther
away. He was thinking of that grim sentence from the old Bible,
"Sin when it is full grown bringeth forth death." And again this
problem of sin, the wilful and persistent violation of known law,
threw its shadow for a moment over his dream of social brotherhood.
The voice of the man angered him. He frowned, bade him good-by and
left.

And as he passed out, he felt, in spite of the charm of Kate's
companionship, the shadow of that veiled mother by his side, and
heard the bitter cries of her broken heart, until the sin and shame
of the man seemed his own. The pity and pathos of it all haunted
and filled him with vague forebodings.--"Now for something more
cheerful," he said, as they passed out of the Tombs and boarded an
uptown car.

"A derrick at work in that wreck yesterday fell on a working-man.
He has a wife and four children. We must see how he is getting on."

They got off on the Bowery, turned down a cross street toward the
East River, threading their way through the masses of people jamming
the sidewalks, and dodging missiles from dirty children screaming
and romping at play.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Kate, "I thought Broadway and Fifth Avenue and
the shopping districts crowded--but this is beyond belief! I didn't