He called the cab, and put Mrs. Lenoir in it. "What street do you live in?" She told him, and he mounted the box. In less than a quarter of an hour the cab stopped at her home. Desiring the driver to wait for him, Ned opened the street-door with the latch key she gave him. "Shall I help you to your room?" he asked. "No; stay here in the passage. I will get a light; I want to see your face." She crept slowly upstairs. The passage was narrow, and, cold as the night was, Ned, a strong and sturdy man, took off his light overcoat and held it on his arm. Presently Mrs. Lenoir returned, with a lighted candle in her hand. She raised the candle, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked steadily at him. As she gazed into his face, a troubled expression stole into her own. It was not the face of a man to whom she would have cared to entrust the happiness of anyone dear to her. "Well," he exclaimed, nettled at her intent observance of him, "you will know me again." "I shall know you again," she said, as he turned from her. "You can have no objection now to tell me your name." "Temple--Arthur Temple." "Great God!" He did not hear the words, nor did he see the candlestick drop from her hand, leaving her in darkness. He slammed the street-door behind him, and, resuming his seat on the cab, drove westwards. A few minutes afterwards, a lodger coming home to the house in which Mrs. Lenoir resided, found her lying senseless in the passage. He was an old man, and had not strength to raise her. Knowing that she was more intimate with Lizzie than with any other person in the house, he knocked at the girl's door, and, waking her, told her of Mrs. Lenoir's condition. Lizzie hurriedly threw on her clothes, and hastened to the suffering woman. Assisted by the man, she carried her to her room, and Mrs. Lenoir was soon in bed, attended by the most willing and cheerful of nurses. The care Lizzie bestowed on her was not bestowed in vain, and when Mrs. Lenoir opened her eyes, she saw a bright fire burning in the room, and the girl standing by her bedside, with a cup of hot tea in her hands. Mrs. Lenoir drank the tea eagerly, and took the bread and butter which Lizzie's gentle persuasion induced her to eat. Lizzie asked no questions; she was learning how to manage the strange woman, whose secret sorrow had made so deep an impression upon her tender heart. "You are feeling better, Mrs. Lenoir?" "Much better and stronger, thank you, Lizzie. You are very kind to me, my dear." "If you will let me, I will sleep with you." Mrs. Lenoir offered no resistance to the proposal, and presently the girl and the woman were lying side by side. "Don't mind waking me, Mrs. Lenoir, if you want me." "No, my dear. Lizzie, you will not betray the confidence I am going to place in you. It will relieve me to speak it." "Oh, I can keep a secret, Mrs. Lenoir." "I believe," said Mrs. Lenoir very slowly, "that I have this night seen the face of my daughter."