"Yes, Saidie, I know it well," I said. "I've been their friend for several years, and I know many of them and their good traits and deeds; but pardon me for interrupting." "I drifted from place to place," she continued; "now I'm here--here facing an awful future. No God, no home, sick in body and soul, not fit to live and certainly not fit to die." "How happened it that you met the man you called your husband, Saidie?" I asked. "Just as nine-tenths of them do," she replied. "We take up with some one who is seemingly kind. It's an awful mistake. _They profit at our expense every day_. They take our earnings of sin, and are often brutal besides," she sobbed. "But does not the vagrancy law protect you?" I asked. "No; not so long as they can prove they are working," she answered. "He is a bar-tender." "Saidie, I want you to leave this life," I pleaded. Come with me, dear. I will treat you as though you were in deed and in truth my own daughter. "Listen, I will even go further; you shall travel with me. I need an amanuensis and secretary. I am overworked, dear. Say you will, and I will make all the necessary arrangements." How I begged her to consent! I wanted to take her then and there, but, _unfortunately, no one I knew would harbor, even temporarily, such a girl, until I was ready to leave--not one_. I could linger no longer that day, excepting for short earnest prayer, in which she took no part. We agreed to meet the following day at noon in a certain restaurant, where we could enjoy privacy. She kept the appointment, but something--I could only conjecture--something had cooled her ardor. I apparently made very little headway with the Master's message. She was silent, obdurate, and she soon left. The next day I followed her up, only to learn from the scrub-woman that Saidie was intoxicated. Again I called; for I was to take the next steamer, and felt I must make one more effort in her behalf. I was told that she had received bad news, that she was drinking deeper than ever to drown her misery, and that it would be worse than useless to see her. After returning to San Jose, I wrote a renewal of my offer, but received no reply. In all probability poor Saidie, _another victim of the dance_, now lies in one of the nameless graves. CHAPTER XXVII. SAN QUENTIN--WE SECURE A LOVELY PROPERTY.