Bert went away soon, and the two girls busied themselves in tidying up the flat, and at about a quarter of seven Marion started to visit Miss Lindsay. Little did she dream when she said good-bye to Dollie that another trap had been laid for her unsuspecting feet and that she was going deliberately to her own destruction. She smiled happily at her sister as she tripped down the steps, and her sweet face was so radiant with joy and health that nearly every one she passed turned at once and looked after her. “What an awful neighborhood,” she thought, as she reached Miss Lindsay’s block at last. It was farther from Dollie’s than she had anticipated. When she saw the number she was seeking on the door of a dilapidated tenement-house, she breathed a sigh of sympathy for little Miss Lindsay. “I did not dream she was so poor,” she murmured, and then, lifting her skirts carefully, she picked her way through a swarm of dirty-faced children and boldly mounted the rickety steps of the dingy tenement. Up, up she went, and still no signs of Miss Lindsay. She inquired on each landing, but not half of the women whom she asked understood her, for they were mostly ignorant foreigners who did not know a word of English. At last, at the very top of the house, she saw a half-open door, and almost as she touched it she came face to face with Miss Lindsay. “Oh, signorita!” cried the girl, in a half-whisper, as she saw her. Then, without another word, she burst into violent weeping. “Don’t cry, dear,” said Marion, as she put her arms around the girl. “I understand: you are ill, and poor, and unhappy, but I will help you gladly. I am so glad you sent for me, dear.” Instead of answering, the poor chorus girl began weeping more bitterly than ever. Her frail form was racked with sobs that were heart-rending. The more earnestly Marion endeavored to comfort her the more hysterical she became, until at last the brave girl was fairly bewildered. “How can I help you, dear, if you do not tell me your trouble?” she asked, in desperation, at the same time laying her hand softly on Miss Lindsay’s shoulder. In a second the girl dropped on her knees before her. As she lifted her streaming eyes to Marion’s face she seemed suddenly to have grown a dozen years older. “Oh, signorita, forgive me!” she cried, in agony. “Forgive me for wronging you. I did not mean it! Oh, I am a guilty, vile woman to do as I have done, but I love him. Oh, I love him, and I could not help it!” For just one second Marion Marlowe was dazed, then, like a flash, it came to her comprehension what the weeping girl meant. She had once more been led into some wicked trap. Either her life or her virtue was in immediate danger. “What is it? Quick! You must tell me!” she cried, seizing the girl by both shoulders. “I forgive you freely for your part in the matter, only tell me what it is, that I may protect myself. A moment more and it may be too late. Hurry, I implore you!”