“It seems so long ago,” was the reply.... “No need to tell of the journey to London. When I got there it frightened me at first. My head went round. But somehow it came to me what I should do. I asked my way to a hospital. I’d helped a many that was hurt at Heddington and thereabouts, and doctors said I was as good as them that was trained. I found a hospital at last, and asked for work, but they laughed at me--it was the porter at the door. I was not to be put down, and asked to see some one that had rights to say yes or no. So he opened the door and told me to go. I said he was no man to treat a woman so, and I would not go. Then a fine white-haired gentleman came forward. He had heard all we had said, standing in a little room at one side. He spoke a kind word or two, and asked me to go into the little room. Before I had time to think, he came to me with the matron, and left me with her. I told her the whole truth, and she looked at first as if she’d turn me out. But the end of it was I stayed there for the night, and in the morning the old gentleman came again, and with him his lady, as kind and sharp of tongue as himself, and as big as three. Some things she said made my tongue ache to speak back to her; but I choked it down. I went to her to be a sort of nurse and maid. She taught me how to do a hundred things, and by-and-by I couldn’t be too thankful she had taken me in. I was with her till she died. Then, six months ago I went to Miss Maryon, who knew about me long before from her that died. With her I’ve been ever since--and so that’s all.” “Surely God has been kind to thee.” “I’d have gone down--down--down, if it hadn’t been for Mr. Claridge at the cross-roads.” “Does thee think I shall like her that will live yonder?” She nodded towards the Cloistered House. “There’s none but likes her. She will want a friend, I’m thinking. She’ll be lonely by-and-by. Surely, she will be lonely.” Faith looked at her closely, and at last leaned over, and again laid a soft hand on her shoulder. “Thee thinks that--why?” “He cares only what matters to himself. She will be naught to him but one that belongs. He’ll never try to do her good. Doing good to any but himself never comes to his mind.” “How does thee know him, to speak so surely?” “When, at the first, he gave me a letter for her one day, and slipped a sovereign into my hand, and nodded, and smiled at me, I knew him right enough. He never could be true to aught.” “Did thee keep the sovereign?” Faith asked anxiously. “Ay, that I did. If he was for giving his money away, I’d take it fast enough. The gold gave father boots for a year. Why should I mind?” Faith’s face suffused. How low was Eglington’s estimate of humanity! In the silence that followed the door of her room opened, and her father entered. He held in one hand a paper, in the other a candle. His face was passive, but his eyes were burning.