That strange answer, naturally enough, only strengthened the
anxiety of Grace to hear more. "You said just now--" she began.

"I said just now that he saved me. He did save me; you shall hear
how. One Sunday our regular clergyman at the Refuge was not able
to officiate. His place was taken by a stranger, quite a young
man. The matron told us the stranger's name was Julian Gray. I
sat in the back row of seats, under the shadow of the gallery,
where I could see him without his seeing me. His text was from
the words, 'Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that
repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which
need no repentance. 'What happier women might have thought of his
sermon I cannot say; there was not a dry eye among us at the
Refuge. As for me, he touched my heart as no man has touched it
before or since. The hard despair melted in me at the sound of
his voice; the weary round of my life showed its nobler side
again while he spoke. From that time I have accepted my hard lot,
I have been a patient woman. I might have been something more, I
might have been a happy woman, if I could have prevailed on
myself to speak to Julian Gray."

"What hindered you from speaking to him?"

"I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid of making my hard life harder still."