“And Mrs. Morningside is delighted to leave hers behind her.” “Yes, she is one of those mothers who are always telling people what paragons of nurses Providence has provided for their darlings, or how admirably their children are being brought up by a model governess,” said the Vicar, who was severe upon other people’s neglect of duty. “By-the-by, talking of mothers, I believe I saw Mrs. Porter’s daughter the other day while I was in town.” “You _believe_ you saw her?” “Yes, I am not certain. A face flashed past me in the street one night, and when the face was gone it came upon me that it was Mercy Porter’s eyes that looked at me for an instant in the gaslight. I was in a busy thoroughfare on the Surrey side of Westminster Bridge. I had been to hear Vansittart preach a mission sermon at a church near Walworth, and I was walking back to the West End. It was late on a Saturday night, and the road was full of costermongers’ barrows, and the pavement was crowded with working people doing their marketing. I tried to overtake the girl whose face had startled me, but it was no use. She had melted into the crowd. I went back the whole length of the street, hoping I might find her in front of one of the costers’ stalls; but she must have turned into one of the numerous side streets, and it was hopeless to hunt for her there. Yet I should have been very glad to get hold of her.” “Is she much changed?” “Changed! Yes. It was only the ghost of Mercy Porter that I saw. I should not have known her but for her eyes. She had fine eyes, do you remember, and with a great deal of expression in them. I think I should be safe in swearing to Mercy Porter’s eyes.” “Did she look poor or ill?” “She looked both—but the illness might be only hunger. She had that wan pinched look one sees in the faces of the London poor, especially in the women’s faces.” “Have you told her mother?” “No, I came to the conclusion that it would be giving the poor soul useless pain to tell her anything, having so little to tell. She knew years ago that Colonel Tremaine had deserted his victim, and that the girl had dropped through. God knows where: into the abyss that swallows up handsome young women who begin their career in West End lodgings and a hired brougham. If the mother were to go in quest of her, and bring her home here, it might be only to bring shame and misery upon her declining years. The creature may have fallen too low for the possibility of reformation, and the mother’s last hours might be darkened by her sin. I would do much to rescue her—but I would rather try to save her through a stranger’s help than by the mother’s intervention.”