“Teresina,” he said, “why did you not tell me that you were married? I thought you said you were alone in the world.” “My husband is dead,” she answered, with what was almost a note of despair in her voice. “Your husband dead, and your mother dead too?” he repeated, almost incredulously. “Teresina, my dear child, are you telling me the truth?” “Why should you doubt me?” she cried. “You have no reason for doing so.” “Because I feel that you are hiding something from me,” he said. “Is it any use my imploring you to confide in me? You know that I am your friend, and that I would help you to the best of my ability.” “I know you would,” she answered. “You were always a good and kind friend to me. All I ask of you now, however, is to leave me alone. I am unhappy enough as it is. Do not seek to add to my misery.” “Heaven knows I have no desire to do that,” said Godfrey. “But if you think I am going to leave you, as you are now, you are much mistaken. If you would only be brave and tell me everything, it might simplify matters.” “Impossible,” she cried. “Have I not told you there is nothing to tell? Oh, why did I not go another way home!” “Because it was to be,” he answered. “You were in trouble, Providence sent me to help you. Believe me, that is the explanation.” A few moments later the cab turned from the Tottenham Court Road into a narrower and darker street. Half-way down this dingy thoroughfare it came to a standstill--before a house on the right-hand side. It was by no means a cheerful dwelling, and at that hour it was wrapped in complete darkness. They descended from the cab, and Godfrey, who had no desire that the cabman should overhear his conversation with Teresina, paid him off with a liberal _largesse_, and allowed him to go on his way rejoicing. “Is it any use my again asking you to tell me your trouble?” he said to the girl beside him, when the vehicle had disappeared and a policeman had passed, after taking a long survey of them. “Not in the least,” she answered. “Please do not ask me.” “In that case, will you make me a promise, Teresina? If you will do so, I will ask no further questions for the present.” “What is it I am to promise?” “That you will not leave this house without first letting me know whither you are going?” “I will do that,” she answered. “I will let you know when I leave this house.” “Here is my card then. You had better take care of it. A letter or telegram will always find me. And now good-night, my poor girl. Remember, I am your friend.” “Good-night, and may God bless _you_.” So saying, she disappeared into the house, while he, in his turn, after taking the bearing of the house, in case he should want to find it again, set off in the opposite direction to that by which he had entered the street.