Captain Temple shook his head. “What can you expect? It is not the boy’s fault; but she is the one I take an interest in. You know I had once a girl of my own--just such another, Mr. Ashford--just such another. I always think of her when I see this pretty creature. Poor things--how should they know the evil that is in the world? They think everybody as good as themselves, and when they find out the difference it breaks their sweet hearts. I can’t look at a young girl like that, not knowing what her next step is to bring her, without tears in my eyes.” The Minor Canon did not make any reply; his heart was touched, but not as Captain Temple’s was touched. He looked back at the dim little house, where as yet there were no lights--not thinking of Lottie as an all-believing and innocent victim, but rather as a young Britomart, a helmeted and armed maiden, standing desperate in defence of her little stronghold against powers of evil which she was noways ignorant of. It did not occur to him that these images might be conjoined, and both be true. “I take a great interest in her,” said old Captain Temple again, “and so does my wife, Mr. Ashford. My wife cannot talk of our loss as I do; but, though she says little, I can see that she keeps her eye upon Lottie. Poor child! She has no mother, and, for that matter, you might say no father either. She has a claim upon all good people. She may be thrown in your way sometimes, when none of us can be of any use to her. It would make me happy if you would say that you would keep an eye upon her too, and stand by her when she wants a friend.” “You may be sure I will do that--if ever it should be in my power.” “Thanks. You will excuse me speaking to you? Most people allow the right we have in our trouble to think of another like our own. I am quite happy to think you will be one of her knights too, Mr. Ashford. So will my wife. Ah, we owe a great deal--a great deal--to innocence. Good night, and my best thanks.”