At that instant a loud deep voice was heard, "Who calls?" And a tall figure seemed to rise, as from the grave itself, and emerge from the shadow of the church. A moment more, and a strong gripe was laid on the shoulder of the ravisher. "What is this? On God's ground, too! Release her, wretch!" The man, trembling, half with superstitious, half with bodily fear, let go his captive, who fell at once at the knees of her deliverer. "Don't you hurt me too," she said, as the tears rolled down her eyes. "I am a good girl-and my grandfather's blind." The stranger bent down and raised her; then looking round for the assailant with an eye whose dark fire shone through the gloom, he perceived the coward stealing off. He disdained to pursue. "My poor child," said he, with that voice which the strong assume to the weak--the man to some wounded infant--the voice of tender superiority and compassion, "there is no cause for fear now. Be soothed. Do you live near? Shall I see you home?" "Thank you! That's kind. Pray do!" And, with an infantine confidence she took his hand, as a child does that of a grown-up person;--so they walked on together. "And," said the stranger, "do you know that man? Has he insulted you before?" "No--don't talk of him: _ce me fait mal_!" And she put her hand to her forehead. The French was spoken with so French an accent, that, in some curiosity, the stranger cast his eye over her plain dress. "You speak French well." "Do I? I wish I knew more words--I only recollect a few. When I am very happy or very sad they come into my head. But I am happy now. I like your voice--I like you--Oh! I have dropped my basket!" "Shall I go back for it, or shall I buy you another?" "Another!--Oh, no! come back for it. How kind you are!--Ah! I see it!" and she broke away and ran forward to pick it up. When she had recovered it, she laughed-she spoke to it--she kissed it. Her companion smiled as he said: "Some sweetheart has given you that basket--it seems but a common basket too." "I have had it--oh, ever since--since--I don't know how long! It came with me from France--it was full of little toys. They are gone--I am so sorry!" "How old are you?" "I don't know." "My pretty one," said the stranger, with deep pity in his rich voice, "your mother should not let you go out alone at this hour." "Mother!--mother!" repeated the girl, in a tone of surprise. "Have you no mother?" "No! I had a father once. But he died, they say. I did not see him die. I sometimes cry when I think that I shall never, never see him again! But," she said, changing her accent from melancholy almost to joy, "he is to have a grave here like the other girl's fathers--a fine stone upon it --and all to be done with my money!" "Your money, my child?" "Yes; the money I make. I sell my work and take the money to my grandfather; but I lay by a little every week for a gravestone for my father."