heart went out to her. I was so sorry for her: how could I cast her
off? How could I withhold my countenance if she were in real distress?
She was a woman--a weak, helpless woman; I could not desert and
abandon her. However reprehensible her conduct might have been, she
had a claim to my protection from ill-usage, and I knew in my heart
that she might count upon a good deal more. I knew, of course, that I
ought not to stand between her and the inevitable Nemesis that awaits
upon misdeeds, but what if I helped her to avoid or escape it?

The opportunity was nearer at hand than I thought. My kindly
intentions, bred of my latest sentiments towards Mrs. Blair, were soon
to be put to the test.




CHAPTER V.


The train reached Amiens punctually at 5 P.M., and a stoppage
of five minutes was announced. I got out to stretch my legs on the
platform. No one took much notice of us; it must have been known that
the train was empty, for there were no waiters from the buffet with
_café au lait_ or fruit, or _brioches_--no porters about, or other
officials.

I had not expected to see any passengers come on board the train, a
through express, made up of sleeping-cars and a supplementary charge
on the tickets. But on running into the station (ours was the first
carriage) I had noticed a man standing with a valise in his hand, and