"Remember," he said, taking her hand, "you have a duty to perform. What will you do when you are strong?"
"I don't know."
"Nay, nay," he urged, "you must not speak so despondently. Believe me, I do not wish to force your confidence, but I have gathered from chance words you have let drop that you lived in London. I am going there to-morrow. Can I call upon any person who would be likely to assist you?"
"There is no one."
"But surely you must have some friends or relations----"
"I have none. When you leave me I shall be without a friend in the world."
"God help you!" he sighed.
"Will he?"
The question was asked in the voice of one who had abandoned hope, who had lost faith in human goodness and eternal justice, and who was tasting the bitterness of death.
Dr. Spenlove remained with her an hour, striving to cheer her, to instill hope into her heart, but his words had no effect upon her, and, indeed, he felt at times that the platitudes to which he was giving utterance were little better than mockery. Was not this woman face to face with the practical issues of life and death in their most awful aspect, and was there any other than a practical remedy for them? She asked for bread, and he was offering her a stone. It was then he went from her room, and learned the full truth from her landlord, who was only waiting till he was gone to turn her into the streets. We know by what means he bought a day's respite for her. Finally he left her, and bore away with him the darkest picture of human misery of which he had ever had experience.