"Indeed, you must not," said the young woman, with a gentle dignity. "Have
you stopped to think what people--what your mother, for instance--would
think of me if she were ever to know I had permitted such a thing? You
know you must not. Please don't speak of it again."

"I cannot help feeling that I ought to take care of you," he said, but
half convinced.

"But I cannot permit it," she said firmly, lifting her trustful eyes to
smile at him.

"Will you promise to let me know if you need anything?"

"No, I'm afraid I cannot promise even that," she answered, "because, while
you have been a true friend to me, the immediate and awful necessity is, I
hope, past."

"You will at least take this," he said, drawing from his pocket an
inconspicuous purse of beautiful leather, and putting into it all the
money his pockets contained. "I saw you had no pocketbook," he went on,
"and I ventured to get this one in the drug-store below the station. Will
you accept it from me? I have your ring, you know, and when you take the
ring back you may, if you wish, return the purse. I wish it were a better
one, but it was the most decent one they had. You will need it to carry
your ticket. And I have put in the change. It would not do for you to be
entirely without money. I'm sorry it isn't more. There are only nine
dollars and seventy-five cents left. Do you think that will see you
through? If there had been any place down-town here where I could cash a
check at this time of night, I should have made it more."