occupants, her eyes heavy and red for want of sleep, her beautiful hair
bound in a veil, the pallor of her skin intensified by the sombre hues of
her dress, I would have given anything in the world to have known her well
enough to have comforted her, even by a word.

"As the night wore on the situation became intolerable. Every now and then
she would start from her seat, jostled awake by the roughness of the
road,--this section had just been completed,--turn her face the other way,
only to be awakened again.

"'You cannot sleep. May I make a pillow for your head of my other shawl? I
do not need it. My coat is warm enough.'

"'No; I am very comfortable.'

"'Forgive me, you are not. You are very uncomfortable, and it pains me to
see you so weary. These dividing-irons make it impossible for you to lie
down. Perhaps I can make a cushion for your head so that you will rest
easier.'

"She looked at me coldly, her eyes riveted on mine.

"'You are very kind, but why do you care? You have never seen me before,
and may never again.'

"'I care because you are a woman, alone and unprotected. I care most
because you are suffering. Will you let me help you?'

"She bent her head, and seemed wrapped in thought. Then straightening up,
as if her mind had suddenly resolved,--