"Doctor Hardy," he answered. "About an hour's walk away." "Yes, I know," she exclaimed. "If a cart came I would not go." "My dear Miss Armstrong, what are you doing here?" exclaimed young Hardy. "All alone in a dead faint in a ditch! Were you returning home?" And again he looked a little way up and down, thinking to see a handbag or a parcel, but her hands were as empty as his. "I'm going to London," she said. "What time is it?" "I'm going to London, too," said he; "but neither of us will catch the train we want. Do you mean to walk to London?" She shook her head, and put her hand in her pocket as though seeking her purse. What she sought was evidently there. Now her faculties had come together, but it was clear she must sit a little longer before attempting to rise; so they sat side by side with their feet in the dry ditch, and their backs against the hedge. "Why are you going to London?" he asked. "I'm leaving home for good," she answered. "Where's your luggage?" "I have none," she replied. "Are you running away from home?" he inquired, beginning to see a little into this matter. "I have no home, and I am leaving my father's house of my own accord," she replied, animated by a little faint passion. "I could endure the life no longer--I am the wretchedest girl in the world. Oh, how his wife has treated me! _You_ once met her." She struggled with her heart, and some tears ran down her face. It is true that Hardy had met this stepmother--this second Mrs. Armstrong--and he had then gathered that the lady and Miss Julia did not lead the lives of angels in each other's company. In short, he had heard that Mrs. Armstrong, by her drink, by her language, and conduct in general, had made a very hell of Captain, or Commander, Armstrong's home for his daughter. The captain was retired, was poor, and Mrs. Armstrong had brought him a hundred a year, which was a godsend. He took life very easily, drank his whisky, smoked his pipe, and was welcome at several houses in the neighbourhood, where at one he would get billiards, at another a rubber, at a third a gossip in which he related his China experiences; and the whisky bottle always kept him company, though his kindest friend could never say that in all his time he had seen him drunk once. Doctor Hardy was on good terms with him, but spoke with strong dislike of Mrs. Armstrong, and of her treatment of her daughter, that was driving her into seeking and taking situations, some of a menial sort, and that threatened before long to break her heart or to send her to the bad, as 'tis called. But with domestic troubles of this sort people do not choose to concern themselves, except in exaggerating them in talk by scandalous hints and opinions. "I must wait for something to pass that will help me to carry you to my father's house," said Hardy, looking anxiously at the girl whom he could not fail to see was weak and exhausted.