Running away from her parents? How different the case really was! It was her parents who had run away from her! But she could not tell Mrs. Austin this. She therefore only shook her head, saying gently, "I lost my parents before leaving home. The--the reason I have no luggage is this, I--I was in great trouble when I came away, and so I forgot to pack any." "Then can’t you send for your luggage, miss?" asked the woman. "No, no. There are reasons why the people I left, at least one of them, must not know where I am. So I can’t send. Besides, I left in debt, and as I cannot pay the money, I want the people to have my clothes and jewellery." Mrs. Austin’s round eyes opened wider. It was queer, and her first feelings of compassion, which had been aroused by her lodger’s pitiable situation, and by the fact that she had seen her on her knees, became mingled with doubts and suspicions. This young lady left the last place she stayed at in debt; it would behove her present landlady to be careful lest she, too, should be taken in. Miss Anderson was very young and innocent-looking, but it was wonderful how sharp those baby-faced girls could be! "I shall have to buy a few things," said Doris, "and that will cost money. But I must look out for work immediately. The question is, what can I do?" "I should think you can do a great many things, miss," said Mrs. Austin. "A young lady like you will almost have been taught everything." Doris shook her head. "I know a smattering of many things," she said, "but I doubt if I could earn money by any one of them." "Well, miss, time will show. I wouldn’t worrit myself about it this evening, if I were you--I would just lie still and go to sleep. You’re worn out, that’s what you are." Doris took this good advice so far as to lie down again after she had her tea, with her face to the wall. But for some time she did not go to sleep, for her heart ached too much; yet she did not weep, though there was a pain at the back of her eyes which hurt more than tears, and did not give her the relief that they would have given. She felt keenly her changed circumstances. Two days ago she had a good home, kind parents, an ardent lover, and many friends and acquaintances; now she had lost all. She was homeless, her parents had forsaken her, she and her lover had parted for ever. She was without friends and without acquaintances, for they, too, were left behind. "I am alone, quite alone," she thought; and then remembered that the best Friend of all, her Heavenly Father, was still with her. That idea saved her from despair, and gave birth to the resolve that she would not allow herself to sink beneath her troubles, but would keep a brave heart and endeavour to live worthily. Her life would be different from of old; yes, but it need not be worse--rather, it should be better. Longfellow’s familiar words rose to her mind: