“No,” I said, looking as incredulous as I thought a crazy person could, “I did not come to New York.” “That girl is from the west,” he said, in a tone that made me tremble. “She has a western accent.” Some one else who had been listening to the brief dialogue here asserted that he had lived south and that my accent was southern, while another officer was positive it was eastern. I felt much relieved when the first spokesman turned to the judge and said: “Judge, here is a peculiar case of a young woman who doesn’t know who she is or where she came from. You had better attend to it at once.” I commenced to shake with more than the cold, and I looked around at the strange crowd about me, composed of poorly dressed men and women with stories printed on their faces of hard lives, abuse and poverty. Some were consulting eagerly with friends, while others sat still with a look of utter hopelessness. Everywhere was a sprinkling of well-dressed, well-fed officers watching the scene passively and almost indifferently. It was only an old story with them. One more unfortunate added to a long list which had long since ceased to be of any interest or concern to them. [Illustration: NELLIE BEFORE JUDGE DUFFY.] “Come here, girl, and lift your veil,” called out Judge Duffy, in tones which surprised me by a harshness which I did not think from the kindly face he possessed. “Who are you speaking to?” I inquired, in my stateliest manner. “Come here, my dear, and lift your veil. You know the Queen of England, if she were here, would have to lift her veil,” he said, very kindly. “That is much better,” I replied. “I am not the Queen of England, but I’ll lift my veil.” As I did so the little judge looked at me, and then, in a very kind and gentle tone, he said: “My dear child, what is wrong?” “Nothing is wrong except that I have lost my trunks, and this man,” indicating Policeman Bockert, “promised to bring me where they could be found.” “What do you know about this child?” asked the judge, sternly, of Mrs. Stanard, who stood, pale and trembling, by my side. “I know nothing of her except that she came to the home yesterday and asked to remain overnight.” “The home! What do you mean by the home?” asked Judge Duffy, quickly. “It is a temporary home kept for working women at No. 84 Second Avenue.” “What is your position there?” “I am assistant matron.” “Well, tell us all you know of the case.” “When I was going into the home yesterday I noticed her coming down the avenue. She was all alone. I had just got into the house when the bell rang and she came in. When I talked with her she wanted to know if she could stay all night, and I said she could. After awhile she said all the people in the house looked crazy, and she was afraid of them. Then she would not go to bed, but sat up all the night.” “Had she any money?” “Yes,” I replied, answering for her, “I paid her for everything, and the eating was the worst I ever tried.”