"Oh, don't talk to me about love!" retorted Priscilla, shaking her
head--"That's fancy rubbish! You know naught about it, dearie! On
the stage indeed! Poor little hussy! She'll be on the street in a
year or two, God help her!"

"What is that?" asked Innocent. "Is it to be a beggar?"

Priscilla made no reply beyond her usual sniff, which expressed
volumes.

"If she has found someone who really cares for her, she will never
want," Innocent went on, gently. "No man could be so cruel as to
take away a girl from her home for his own pleasure and then leave
her alone in the world. It would be impossible! You must not think
such hard things, Priscilla!"

And, smiling, she had gone her way,--while Priscilla, shaking her
head again, had looked after her, dimly wondering how long she
would keep her faith in men.

On this still moonlight night, when the sadness of her soul seemed
heavier than she could bear, her mind suddenly reverted to this
episode. She thought of the girl who had run away; and remembered
that no one in the village had ever seen or heard of her again,
not even her patient hard-working parents to whom she had been a
pride and joy.

"Now she had a real father and mother!" she mused, wistfully--
"They loved her and would have done anything for her--yet she ran