but'—laying my hand gently on hers again—'it might have been harder. I mean if you had really done what you were believed to have done.'

'It was harder for another reason,' she replied grimly. 'Wait till I've told you all. My mother lived away down in Leicestershire, a respectable shepherd's wife, who prided herself upon bringing her girls up honest and good. The first letter I got in prison came from my married sister, to tell me that my wickedness had broke mother's heart, and saying that it was no use my ever going back there again, for not one of them would own me; and father he would never forgive me for being the death of mother. My sister had married a well-to-do farmer, and was ashamed of me before she thought I had done wrong, for being in service; so she did not spare me afterwards. A disgrace to the family, she called me, and said they one and all hoped never to see nor hear from me again. I came out of prison a desperate woman! As I just told you, when I came out of prison I was met by one of the ladies on the watch for such as me, and I was brought down to the place up there.'

'You could not at anyrate doubt her motive,' I said cheerfully.

A half-smile played about her lips as she went on without noticing my interruption: 'Then they begun at me. I was dressed up in them things. You've seen us parading off to church, I warrant—people never forget to stare—so you know what it is out of doors, walking along two and two with the matron in front dressed up fine to shew the difference! But indoors it's worse—worse a deal than ever prison was. Mrs Gower (that's the matron) has it all to herself, and—— There; I don't think it has ever done any good to them as are as wicked as they are thought to be, and it just drove me wild. Out of fifteen of us, there wasn't many who could say they were better for being there. The sharp ones pretend to be reformed straight off; it is the only thing to do if you want to come off easy and get sent off to a situation with a character. I gave them a great deal of trouble. I knew I wasn't quite so bad as they thought me; but I didn't care about setting up for good in the way some of them did neither. So I soon got to be thought the worst character they had in the place; and then they shewed me off as the bad one to the visitors—a sort of curiosity. Mrs Gower liked to have a wicked one to shew among the good ones, I think. So I began to feel a bit proud of it, and did little pranks on purpose to amuse them. There wasn't so very much harm in them neither, only they were against the rules. But to-day I was fetched in to be shewn to the committee. I didn't mind them; making up a face all ready for them; and they put up their glasses to look at me, and I think they was satisfied that no place could have a wickeder one nor me to shew. I was laughing to myself, when all in a moment I saw a face among them that I knew. It was my old mistress's son, who had tried so hard to make me go wrong, and then took his revenge by making me out to be a thief. The thought came into my head to tell them that he had been the cause of all my trouble. But I'd hardly begun when I was ordered to stand down as a liar as well as a thief. Of course they wasn't going to believe that a respectable gentleman like him could do anything so wicked. Besides, there was his face to look at; there wasn't a gentler and kinder-looking gentleman there than he was. And he called me "Poor thing," and said he hoped they wouldn't have me punished, for he did not mind—everybody knew him! Well, I managed to give them a bit of my mind before I was got out of the room. I could ha' borne the punishment and all that easy enough, if there had been anything to come of it. But I knew it was no use; I should only get more and more hardened, as they called it; so I got out of the window of the room I was locked up in and cut. That's my story, and the whole truth.'

'Poor Nancy! The story is a very sad one; all the sadder because you do not see where you, as well as others, have been to blame.'

'Do you think I stole the ring, then?'

'No; not for a moment. I believe you.' I hurriedly thought over what was the next best thing to say, so as to do justice to those who, however mistaken in their way of treating her especial case, had meant to benefit her, and at the same time be true to her. I saw what they had apparently failed to see—she could be touched.

'Then how have I been to blame, Miss?'

'It is a private undertaking, is it not, Nancy; almost entirely supported by one lady, although managed by a committee?'

'Yes, Miss; and the committee is managed by Mrs Gower. They all do what she tells 'em; though if they knew'——

'And costs a great deal of money; does it not? I think that I have heard this lady subscribes between fifteen and eighteen hundred a year to it.'

'Yes, Miss; I suppose she do. They say Mrs Gower the matron has two hundred a year besides lots of perquisites,' replied Nancy, a little surprised at what appeared to her the irrelevancy of the question.

'And this lady spends all that in the hope of benefiting her fellow-women! How much she must feel for them—nay, how much she must love them, Nancy! Think of feeling so much love for women who have done wrong as to spend all that upon the bare chance of benefiting them! In spite of their want of gratitude too!'

There was a new startled look in Nancy's eyes, as she murmured in a low voice: 'I never thought of that—I never thought about her caring.'

'But she must, you know; and it must be a great grief and disappointment to her to feel that all she does is in vain. It is, you say?'

'I am afeard it is—a most'—hesitatingly began Nancy. 'We've all on us been thinking about Mrs Gower, and she's'——

'A moment, Nancy! It is quite evident that Mrs Gower has not the same feeling towards you all which her employer has, or you would have experienced some good effects from it. But it is equally evident that those whom the benevolent lady is seeking to help have no gratitude towards her—not even gratitude enough to acknowledge her good-will towards them.'

'I—never thought of her,' repeated Nancy, more to herself than to me. 'I only saw her once; a pale thin lady, who looked so sorry—yes, she did look sorry, even for me, though she thought I was the worst there! If I'd only thought she cared!'—turning her eyes regretfully in the direction of the house again. Then drawing a heavy breath: 'But there; she thought it was all my wickedness! I let her think so; and—it's done now, and can't be undone. There's no hope for me now—I told you so—everything's against me.'

'Nonsense! No hope indeed! There's every hope for one with your keen sense of right and wrong, if you will only act up to it. Do you think I will ever give you up?'

'What can you do for such as me, Miss?'—I was glad to see a little anxiously.

'Lots of things. Let me think a moment.' Presently I went on: 'There are two ways to begin with, Nancy. One will require more moral strength and courage than the other; but you shall choose which you think best; and whichever course you take, I promise to hold fast to you.'

'What is it to do, Miss?'—eagerly.

'One plan I propose is, for you to come at once with me to the place where I am staying, and remain there until I am married, which I shall be shortly, when you should live with me as housemaid; none but us two knowing anything about the past, and'——

'I choose that!' she hastily began, her eyes brightening and her colour rising.

'Listen a moment, before you quite decide, Nancy. The other course is more difficult, I know; but I want you to decide fairly between the two. It is to go back to the Home, take your punishment, whatever it may be, and stay there, with me for your friend, until I am ready for you to come to live with me. I am quite aware it would require a great deal of