all for himself and left the baby to perish; but he had to lie on the
broad wooden bench and make the best of it, which he did by snoring
all the night. It passed drearily for Clare, who kept wide awake. He
was not anxious about the morrow; he had nothing to be ashamed of,
therefore nothing to fear; but he had baby to protect and cherish, and
he dared not go to sleep.



Chapter XXXVII.

The magistrate.


The dawn came at last, and soon after the dawn footsteps, but they
approached only to recede. When the door at length opened, it was but
to let a pair of eyes glance round on them, and close again. The hours
seemed to be always beginning, and never going on. But at the long
last came the big policeman. To Clare's loving eyes, how friendly he
looked!

"Come, kids!" he said, and took them through a long passage to a room
in the town-hall, where sat a formal-looking old gentleman behind a
table.

"Good morning, sir!" said Clare, to the astonishment of the
magistrate, who set his politeness down as impudence.

Nor was the mistake to be wondered at; for the baby in Clare's arms
hid, with the mountain-like folds of its blanket, the greater part of