“Well, it is quite true,” she said; “and I can have no purpose in denying it.” “You must pardon me,” said the young man, “if I associate this seizure somehow with the persecution complained of in your advertisement.” She looked down, twisting the telegram in her lap in an agitated manner. “Yes,” she said, in a low voice. “I must admit it.” “Have you the least objection,” he asked earnestly, “to giving me your name?” She hesitated a moment; then raised her eyes to his steadily. “Would it not be right for you to acquaint me first,” she said, “of the object of your visit?” “Here, as always,” he answered, with measured clearness, “to succour the unfortunate or unhappy.” A little irrepressible sigh escaped her. “Naturally,” he continued, “you will ask my credentials. Is it possible that you have heard mention of ‘Lamb’s Agency’?” She shook her head slightly. “It was founded,” said Gilead, “by a person having great wealth, and a keen desire to apply it to the most helpful uses. Any wronged or persecuted innocence has a first claim upon it, I may say. My name is Gilead Balm, and I represent the Agency in this instance.” Her eyes opened upon him wonderingly. “Does such an institution exist?” she murmured. “I am very fortunate.” He bowed gravely. “The good fortune is ours, madam, where our purpose is vindicated.” “I understand you,” she said. “You must guard against the wiles of the unscrupulous?” “An exhaustive investigation is the only way,” he said. “That needs no apology,” she answered, flushing a little. “I cannot be blind to the fact that the terms of my advertisement invited some comment. I was indeed very distracted when I wrote it.” “You will not, then,” said Gilead, “attribute to mere prying impertinence on my part a desire to ascertain the nature of this persecution, whether to arm myself for your protection against it, or--” “Or,” she interrupted him, with a faint smile, “to form your own opinion as to the truth of my story?” “As to our capacity for assisting you,” he corrected her, staidly and courteously. “Thank you for putting it that way,” she said quietly. “My name is Vera Halifax. Were I to give you the outlines of my history, you would accept the statement as a confidence, I am sure?” “Most certainly,” he answered. “I mean a personal confidence,” said the girl. “If you should desire it.” “I do desire it, if you please. Ill-chosen as were, no doubt, the terms of my appeal, I never proposed to myself to enlarge upon them save to the sympathy which should seem to justify my trust by its practical sincerity. You will understand me, I am sure, Mr Balm, when I ask you how you propose to deal with my difficulties, if convinced of their reality?” “Why, how can I answer,” he said, breaking into a smile, “until I know their nature?” She looked down, toying with the telegraph form. “I should have thought,” she said, “that that mention of my poor accomplishments would have been sufficiently illuminating.”