"Yes," said Richard, gravely. "I have always looked upon her as a child--or, at least, as a young, innocent girl. Mrs Lane, I tell you frankly, for I think I can read your feelings--every look, every attention of mine towards that poor girl has been the result of pity. If you could read me, I think you would never suspect me of trifling." "I am ready to trust you," she said. "You will not be late. The night air would be dangerous for her--hush!" "I'm ready!" exclaimed Netta, joyfully. As she appeared framed in the doorway of the inner room, her dark hair cast back, eyes sparkling, and the flush as of health upon her cheeks, and lips parted to show her pure white teeth, Richard's heart gave another painful throb, and he thought of Frank Pratt's words, for it was no child that stood before him, but a very beautiful woman. "You'll be back before dark, my darling?" said Mrs Lane, tenderly. "Oh yes," cried Netta, excitedly. "Mr Lloyd will take such care of me; but--" The joy faded out of her countenance, and she clung to her mother, looking from her to the work. "What is it, my dear?" said Mrs Lane, stroking her soft dark hair. "It's cruel to go and leave you here at work," sobbed the girl. "What! when you are going to get strength, and coming back more ready to help me?" said Mrs Lane, cheerfully. "There, go along! Take care of her, Mr Lloyd." Richard had been to the head of the stairs, and spoken to Sam, who was already on his box; and as the young man offered his arm, Netta took it, with the warm, soft blush returning, and she stole a look of timid love at the tall, handsome man who was to be her protector. The next minute she was in the cab, Richard had taken his place at her side, and Sam essayed to start as the good-bye nods were given. "Lor!" said Mrs Jenkles, her woman's instinct coming to the fore, "what a lovely pair they do make!" At the same moment, on the opposite side of the way, a lady with a widow's cap cocked back on her head, gazed from behind a curtain, wiped her eyes on a piece of crape, and said, with a sigh-- "And him the handsomest and quietest lodger I ever had!" Meanwhile, in answer to every appeal from Sam Jenkles, Ratty was laying his ears back, wagging his tail, and biting at nothing. "Don't you be skeared, Miss," said Sam, through the little roof-trap, "it's on'y his fun. Get on with yer, Ratty--I'm blowed if I aint ashamed on yer. Jest ketch hold of his head, and lead him arf a dozen yards, will yer, mate?" he continued, addressing a man, after they had struggled to the end of the street. "Thanky." For the leading had the desired effect, and Ratty went off at a trot to Pentonville Hill.