“She has had to take the longest, after all,” said the proprietor, _sotto voce_, with a kindly wink at Roger. The landlady soon reappeared with one of the ladies who had been present overnight,—a little pushing, patronizing woman, who seemed strangely familiar with the various devices of applied charity. “I have come to arrange,” she said, “about our subscription for the little one. I shall not be able to contribute myself, but I will go round among the other ladies with a paper. I have just been seeing the reporter of the ‘Universe’; he is to insert a kind of ‘appeal,’ you know, in his account of the affair. Perhaps this gentleman will draw up our paper? And I think it will be a beautiful idea to take the child with me.” Lawrence was sickened. The world’s tenderness had fairly begun. Nora gazed at her energetic benefactress, and then, with her eyes, appealed mutely to Roger. Her glance, somehow, moved him to the soul. Poor little disfathered daughter,—poor little uprooted germ of womanhood! Her innocent eyes seemed to more than beseech,—to admonish almost, and command. Should he speak and rescue her? Should he subscribe the whole sum, in the name of human charity? He thought of the risk. She was an unknown quantity. Her nature, her heritage, her good and bad possibilities, were an unsolved problem. Her father had been an adventurer; what had her mother been? Conjecture was useless; she was a vague spot of light on a dark background. He was unable even to decide whether, after all, she was plain. “If you want to take her round with you,” said the landlady to her companion, “I had better just sponge off her face.” “No indeed!” cried the other, “she is much better as she is. If I could only have her little nightgown with the blood on it! Are you sure the bullet didn’t strike your dress, deary? I am sure we can easily get fifty names at five dollars apiece. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Perhaps this gentleman will make it three hundred. Come, sir, now!” Thus adjured, Roger turned to the child. “Nora,” he said, “you know you are quite alone. You have no home.” Her lips trembled, but her eyes were fixed and fascinated. “Do you think you could love me?” She flushed to the tender roots of her tumbled hair. “Will you come and try?” Her range of expression of course was limited; she could only answer by another burst of tears. II.