My determination had its effect. She ceased to struggle, and looked solemnly at me with big, lovely eyes, to which the pale light of the moon seemed to give an uncanny glitter. “Who are you?” she asked, “that you should so concern yourself about the fate of a stranger?” “I am a friend of humanity, I hope.” “Humanity! My God! How much humanity has my short life met with? And what sort of a specimen of humanity do you suppose me to be?” “Unfortunate; that is evident. Not naturally depraved, I am sure. The victim of some scoundrel, I imagine. A fitting subject for help and counsel. That is certain.” “Help and counsel! Oh, how I have prayed for them! and now it is too late!” But I saw that I had conquered. The fierceness of the girl’s frenzy had passed, and the crisis in her fate was over. Poor child! how my heart bled for her! It is sad to witness despair at any time. But saddest of all is it to recognise the insatiate ghoul on the face of those to whom life should just be opening wide its portals of joy. “Perhaps I can afford you help and counsel,” I said soothingly. “People would never find themselves utterly forsaken if they only knew to whom to apply in their need. Tell me about yourself. It will relieve you. What is your name, and where do you live?” “My name,” was the bitter answer, “has been disgraced, and I will not add to my folly by involving my family in my disgrace. As for my home, it is a truly magnificent one. The air, the sky, and the roaring noises of civilisation are all mine to enjoy ad libitum. Why, I am quite rich!” As the stranger made the last remark, she lost her self-restraint, and sobbed with hysterical violence. I felt very much relieved at this outburst, for I knew that though it would probably leave the girl faint and exhausted, it would also leave her in a more gentle and pliable frame of mind. My judgment proved correct, and I was presently fully confided in. It was the old story of blind trust and deliberate betrayal, and is soon told. Lucy Markham had been well educated and delicately reared, but was without relatives or near friends at the time I found her. Her mother had died eighteen months before this. The penury consequent upon the previous death of the father had been partly met by disposing of the furniture and other effects, and when Lucy was left unprotected she was also quite without means. But she meant to be very industrious and attentive to her duties, and quite expected to earn her living easily in London. So she migrated from the quiet little Surrey village where she had seen so much sorrow to seek and to find employment in one of the greatest hives of wickedness the world has ever known, to wit – London.