He began to realize what he had done, in undertaking Lena’s “case” without the help of a woman. Confusedly he ran over in his mind the names of the Christian women whom he knew, to whom he could turn in this emergency. He thought of Helen Carruth; but an image of the Professor’s wife, her mother, being asked to introduce Lena into the domestic machinery of a Cesarea household, half amused and half embittered him. He remembered the wife of his church treasurer, a kindly woman, trained now to doing the unexpected for Christ’s sake. “I will speak to Mrs. Bond. I will consider the matter. Perhaps there may be some position--some form of household service,” he ventured, with the groping masculine idea that a domestic career was the only one open to a girl like Lena. Then Lena laughed. “Thank you, sir. But I ain’t no more fit for housework than I be for a jeweler’s trade, or floss embroidery, or a front pew in Heaven. There ain’t a lady in Christendom would put up with me. I wouldn’t like it, either,” said Lena candidly. “There’s only one thing I would like. It’s just come over me, standin’ here. I guess I’ll manage.” “I shall wish to know,” observed Bayard anxiously, “what you are going to do, and where you will be.” “I’ll take a room I know of,” said Lena. “It ain’t in Angel Alley. It’s a decent place. I’ll get Johnny’s mother to come along o’ me. She’s dead sick of the Widders’ Home. She’s kinder fond of me, Johnny’s mother is, and she can take in or go out, to help a bit. Then I’ll go over to the powder factory.” “The powder factory?” echoed the puzzled pastor. “The gunpowder factory, over to the Cut,” said Lena. “They’re kinder short of hands. It ain’t a popular business. The pay’s good, and Lord, _I_ shouldn’t care! The sooner I blow up, the safer I’ll be. I guess I’d like it, too. I always thought I should.” “Very well,” said the minister helplessly. “That may answer, till we can find something better.” It was now past twelve o’clock, and the night was growing bitterly cold. Bayard said good-night to Lena, and they separated opposite Trawl’s door. He went shivering home, and stirred up his fire. He was cold to the heart. That discreet afterthought which is the enemy of too many of our noble decisions, tormented him. He turned to his books, and taking one which was lying open upon the study-table read:-- “He spoke much about the wrongs of women; and it is very touching to know that during the last year of his life he frequently went forth at night, and endeavored to redeem the fallen women of Brighton.”... It was not three days from this time that Captain Hap approached the minister on the Alley, with a sober and anxious face. He held in his hand a copy of the “Windover Topsail.” His rough finger trembled as it pressed the paragraph which he handed in silence for Bayard to read:--