is your name, dear? What am
I to call you?"

"My name is Frances," said the little girl.

Kate shuddered, and tried to turn her head away.

"Is anything the matter?" asked the little voice, as Kate did not speak.

"No, nothing," said poor Kate, not very truthfully--and then to change
the subject--"Where are your people? Where do you live?"

"I have five, up in heaven, waiting for me," said Frances slowly, "and
I live with my aunt. She keeps a baker's shop, and when I am not at
school, I clean the floors, and mind the little ones, and I go to bed
when the baby does, to keep her quiet. And when the stars come out, I
lie there, thinking of my father and our own little ones, and thinking
of Jesus Christ, thinking,--thinking,--longing to see His face."

The great voice of the great Westminster clock at this moment told the
hour. How solemn it sounded in the stillness; even more solemn than
when it speaks out above the roar of London life in the day-time.

[Illustration: The Westminster clock tower.]

"I am going to sleep again now," said the little child. "Good-night,
dear Kate; God bless you, and mind you wake me if the pain is bad."

CHAPTER III.

IN THE HOSPITAL.

At last Mother Agnes stood by Kate's bed side. How pale the poor girl
looked and her dark eyes seemed to have grown larger and more pathetic
than they used to be. A real gleam of pleasure passed over her face as
her eyes rested on Mother Agnes.

"You are good to come to me," said Kate. "I did not think you would
have cared. How did you know I was here?"

"Because, dear child, I took every possible pains to find out what had
become of you; and heard of you at last."

"I was afraid you would send the police after me," said Kate, "and that
is why I did not take the straight road to London, but went a long way
round."

"Then what did you do for food and shelter all that time?"

"I had a shilling of my own," said Kate in a weary voice, "and that
lasted me in bread for some days. And at nights I slept in barns and
outhouses, and once under the open sky. But when I got near London, I
was so weak for want of food that I thought I should have died; and I
lay down by the roadside, and could not get any farther. And then some
poor men who were tramping the country for work passed that way, and
they took pity on me, and gave me some broken meat they had with them,
and something out of a bottle,--it may have been brandy for aught I
kno