"We don't want none of his 'oss-racin' money. Send it back, my gal,"
growled old Billiter when he saw this letter. But the poor woman would
not hurt her husband.

Devine found all respectable employments closed to him, and he was often
in desperate straits; but he would always contrive to send something, if
it were only a half-crown, toward the support of his children. When he
reached the Nadir of shabbiness, he touted in Piccadilly among the cabs,
and picked up a few coppers in that way. For days he could abstain from
drink, but that curse never left him, and he broke down again and again,
only to repent and strive more fervently than ever. Alas! how weak we
are. Surely we should help each other. I am often tempted to forget
there is evil in the world. There are moments when I can almost pardon
myself, but that is too hard. Devine said he could not see Letty often.
He only saw her once more. She was ailing and weakly, and one day she
put her arms round her father's neck, and whispered to him. He started,
and growled, "All right, my gal; I deny you nothin'. Only I'll go out of
the 'ouse before he comes."

So William Devine was summoned, and he found his wife propped up in bed.
Her hands were frail, and the bones of her arms stood out sharply. The
man was choking, Letty made an effort, lifted her arms, and drew him
down to her with an ineffable gesture of tenderness. "Oh, Will, I'm glad
you've come. How happy we were--how happy! I forget everything but
that." Devine could not speak for a while. Letty said:

"You'll always be near the children, won't you?"

"So help me God! I'll give up my life to them."