She was lying so, her eyes shut, not yet asleep, but thinking some bitter and bad thoughts, when the room door was gently opened and a woman came in. Helen's eyes unclosed quickly enough then, and with an angry exclamation she rose to her feet. But the woman who had entered was not an ordinary one, and she showed no vestige of alarm at the flashing eyes and menacing arm which greeted her; she had ventured into a place where no policeman would come alone. "Don't be angry with me, I want to help you," she said, seating herself uninvited on a chair, and raising her veil. The face underneath was white and worn, perhaps a little sad, with a patient look about the eyes and mouth. The look of the woman and her courage disarmed Helen's anger; she made no further resistance, but leaned rather helplessly against the dirty wall a few paces away. "I have come to help you," said her uninvited guest again. Now this was just what Helen in her heart of hearts responded to; she was hunted down, weary, despondent, and she had come upon very few offers of help. "I be rare and 'ungry," she said, "and the little 'un's rare and 'ungry," pointing to the boy, and hoping to abstract money by this appeal, which was both pathetic and true. "If you are hungry you must have food," said the woman. She took out her purse, opened it, drew from its contents a shilling, and gave the shilling to Helen. "Go and buy something with that for yourself and the child," she said. "Come back and eat it here. I will stay until you return." The eyes of the thief had seen the glitter of gold, but the ears of the woman had listened to the unwonted tone of kindness, and without a shadow of even avarice on her face she meekly went out. When she returned, the lady (she was of gentle birth, but I have called her woman hitherto, regarding it as a higher name) was feeding Robin with biscuits ornamented with pink comfits. Robin was devouring the biscuits, occasionally stopping to admire the confectionery and to gaze with his lovely eyes at the lady. "That is a fine boy," said Mrs. Aytoun, addressing Helen; "is he your son?" "Yes," said Helen. She always called him her son. "He is not like you," said the visitor, glancing from the dark woman to the fair boy. This remark made Helen suspicious. She ceased to eat the bread and sausages she had brought in, and glanced meaningly towards the door. Mrs. Aytoun took the hint conveyed in this look by coming quickly to the point and object of her visit. "Your name is Helen?" "Yes." "Shall I tell you what I know about you?" "I don't care." "You are not an honest woman." Had the policemen walked into the room Helen's face could not have grown any whiter than it did at those words. She looked at Robin, looked at the door, and would have fled had not Mrs. Aytoun laid her hand on her arm. "Don't run away; my business is not to frighten, but to help you, _because_ you are the sort of woman I know you to be."