"Is there any place to which you could go? Have you enough money left to take you there?" she questioned, as if the matter were already settled, and, consciously or unconsciously, the stranger replied in the same vein. "I have an old friend in America; he would help me to a start. I have a good many possessions left; they would bring in enough to pay the passage if--" "No, there is no `if'! Don't let yourself say it! Sell the things to- morrow, and begin again in a new world, in a new way. Believe that God _does_ care, and that it is a chance that He has given you, and every night and every morning, oh, and so often through the day, I shall remember you, and pray that you may be helped! Sometimes when you feel lonely you may be glad to know that one person in the Old Country knows all about you, and is waiting to see the reward of your work. You must let me know when the success comes. I shall always be waiting; and remember, this talk is going to do me good too! I have _made_ troubles for myself because I did not know how well off I was, but now that I have come so close to the real thing I shall be ashamed to grizzle over trifles. It _is_ settled, isn't it? You are going on fighting?" There was a long silence. She could feel rather than see the struggle in the man's face, but the pressure tightened on her hand, foretelling that the decision would be what she wished. "Yes," he said slowly at last. "I promise! An hour ago it seemed as if there was not a soul in the world who cared whether I lived or died, but as you say you came to me--in the darkness! You think you were sent. My old mother would have thought the same. I don't know, I can't tell, but it may be so, and that gives me courage to try again." He paused for a moment or two, then suddenly-- "What is your name?" he asked. "Betty!" "Betty!" His voice lingered over the pretty, girlish name. "Thank you, Betty!" "And yours?" "Ralph." "Thank you, Ralph! You have given me something real to think of in life--something to look forward to." "Ah!" He drew a long, stabbing breath. "But at the best it will be a long waiting. You will be far from eighteen--`nearly eighteen'--before I can hope for success. The years will seem very long." "But they will pass!" cried Betty. "I can wait!" She was in a state of exaltation when no trial of patience seemed too great to face, and difficulties presented themselves only as glorious opportunities; but the man, who had experienced the heat and burden of the day, sighed, and was silent. By this time they had made their way past the great houses standing back from the road, and were close on the Lancaster Gate Station of the Central London Railway. A faint light streamed into the gloom from the glass fanlight, and for the first time Betty began to feel that she trod on familiar ground.