unpleasant to confide in an utter stranger. I will not ask you to tell me.
I will try to think for you. Suppose we go to the station and get you a
ticket to somewhere. Have you any preference? You can trust me not to tell
any one where you have gone, can you not?" There was a kind rebuke in his
tone, and her eyes, as she lifted them to his face, were full of tears.

"Oh, I do trust you!" she cried, distressed "You must not think that,
but--you do not understand."

"Forgive me," he said again, holding out his hand in appeal. She laid her
little gloved hand in his for an instant.

"You are so kind!" she murmured, as if it were the only thing she could
think of. Then she added suddenly:

"But I cannot buy a ticket. I have no money with me, and I----"

"Don't think of that for an instant. I will gladly supply your need. A
little loan should not distress you."

"But I do not know when I shall be able to repay it," she faltered,
"unless"--she hastily drew off her glove and slipped a glittering ring
from her finger--"unless you will let this pay for it. I do not like to
trouble you so, but the stone is worth a good deal."

"Indeed," he protested, "I couldn't think of taking your ring. Let me do
this. It is such a small thing. I shall never miss it. Let it rest until
you are out of your trouble, at least."

"Please!" she insisted, holding out the ring. "I shall get right out of