“Thank you,” Salome responded, and tears sprang to her eyes. It was so pleasant to have some one really interested in her once more, and to feel such kindly care thrown about her. The woman went quietly out of the room, but returned in about twenty minutes, bringing not only some delicious cream toast and a cup of steaming tea, but a delicately poached egg and some daintily chipped beef. “How good you are to me!” Salome said gratefully, as she sat up in bed and began to eat hungrily of the tempting meal. “And why shouldn’t I be good to you?” returned her companion, with a pleasant smile. “I couldn’t see any young girl in trouble and not try to help her. I’ve got two little girls myself—bless their dear hearts—and maybe, if they ever lose their mother, they’ll need a helping hand sometime. Besides”—and a tender glow passed over the homely honest face—“I belong to the dear Lord who said, inasmuch as we give a cup of cold water to one of His children we are serving Him.” Salome lifted her dewy eyes to her companion. “You have given me far more than the cup of cold water,” she said, with emotion; “you have taken the stranger in, have clothed and fed and ministered unto me; you have been the good Samaritan in every sense of the word; I never realized before just how much that Bible story means,” and two glittering drops rolled over her cheeks. “Dear heart, you make too much out of a little,” replied her companion kindly. “There, eat your supper or it will become cold, and I’ll read about the fire to you.” It was not a long account, and she had finished it before Salome was half through eating. Then she read the names of those who had perished, and the young girl’s hand was suddenly arrested in the act of raising her cup to her lips, as she heard her own spoken. “Oh!” she cried out, setting her cup down, and feeling faint and dizzy. How wonderful had been her escape, of which, as yet, no one knew! It seemed as if nothing short of a miracle had enabled her to save herself. Had it not been for the board which the paper-hanger had left in the hall, and the strength and courage which had been given her to make use of it, she would now be lying beneath those fallen walls, a heap of charred bones. How had she ever dared to cross that narrow bridge to that other house? Oh! that dizzy height! Should she ever forget the terrible sensations she experienced as she stood there, in mid-air, between that brittle board and frail wire? “I don’t wonder it unnerves you, miss, to hear about it,” the woman said, as she laid down the paper. “I suppose you knew those poor girls well.” “N-o—only one of them,” Salome answered faintly, “I had not been a lodger in the house long.” “Perhaps they will think you are dead, too, if you don’t put in an appearance pretty soon,” said her companion, without a suspicion that she had already read her name among the list of the supposed dead. “What is your name?—if I may ask?”