She went to the shop still, now and then, to see George Macwha, who, of an age beyond the seduction of ice and skates, kept on steadily at his work.

To him she would repeat a ballad or two, at his request, and then go home to increase her stock.
This was now a work of some difficulty, for her provision of candles was exhausted, and she had no money with which to buy more.

The last candle had come to a tragical end.

For, hearing steps approaching her room one morning, before she had put it away in its usual safety in her box, she hastily poked it into one of the holes in the floor and forgot it.

When she sought it at night, it was gone.