the head of the
grave. Her face turned towards me slowly, with the blank look of
terror set rigidly on it once more. I went on at all hazards--it was
too late now to draw back.

"The two men spoke to the policeman," I said, "and asked him if he had
seen you. He had not seen you; and then one of the men spoke again,
and said you had escaped from his Asylum."

She sprang to her feet as if my last words had set the pursuers on her
track.

"Stop! and hear the end," I cried. "Stop! and you shall know how I
befriended you. A word from me would have told the men which way you
had gone--and I never spoke that word. I helped your escape--I made it
safe and certain. Think, try to think. Try to understand what I tell
you."

My manner seemed to influence her more than my words. She made an
effort to grasp the new idea. Her hands shifted the damp cloth
hesitatingly from one to the other, exactly as they had shifted the
little travelling-bag on the night when I first saw her. Slowly the
purpose of my words seemed to force its way through the confusion and
agitation of her mind. Slowly her features relaxed, and her eyes
looked at me with their expression gaining in curiosity what it was
fast losing in fear.

"YOU don't think I ought to be back in the Asylum, do you?" she said.

"Certainly not. I am glad you escaped from it--I am glad I helped you."

"Yes, yes, you did help me indeed; you helped me at the hard part," she
went on a little vacantly. "It was easy to escape, or I should not
have got away. They never suspected me as they suspected the others.
I was so quiet, and so obedient, and so easily frightened. The finding
London was the hard part, and there you helped me. Did I thank you at
the time? I thank you now very kindly."

"Was the Asylum far from where you met me? Come! show that you believe
me to be your friend, and tell me where it was."

She mentioned the place--a private Asylum, as its situation informed
me; a private Asylum not very far from the spot where I had seen
her--and then, with evident suspicion of the use to which I might put
her answer, anxiously repeated her former inquiry, "You don't think I
ought to be taken back, do you?"

"Once again, I am glad you escaped--I am glad you prospered well after
you left me," I answered. "You said you had a friend in London to go
to. Did you find the friend?"

"Yes. It was very late, but there was a girl up at needle-work in the
house, and s