'Yes, with all my things in. It's in the shop. You can go and see if you don't believe me. But if you do go, I sha'n't like you. You have no right to doubt my word.'
Her eyes filled with tears, and these and the words of helplessness she had spoken were sufficient for my mother. She drew the girl to her side with a protecting motion.
'Are you a stranger about here, my dear?'
'I don't know anything of the place,' replied the girl, in a more childlike tone than she had yet used. 'I have no idea where I am--except that this is Paradise-row. I shouldn't like to wander about the streets at this time of night.'
'There is no need, my dear, there is no need. There, there! don't cry.'
'But of course,' continued the girl, striving to restrain the quivering of her lips, 'I would sooner do that than stop where I am not wanted.' She would have said more, but I saw that she was fearful of breaking down, and thus showing signs of weakness. I looked somewhat angrily towards uncle Bryan; my mother's arm was still around the girl's waist. With a quick comprehension he seized all the points of sentiment in the picture.
'Ah,' he growled, this is more like a leaf out of a story-book than anything else. You'--to the girl--'are injured innocence; you'--to my mother--'are the good genius of the oppressed; and I am the dragon whom St. George here'--meaning me--'would like to spit on his lance.'
'I am sure, Bryan--' commenced my mother, in a tone of mild remonstrance; but uncle Bryan interrupted her.
'Don't be sure of anything, Emma. Let me understand matters first. How long have I been asleep--days, weeks, or years?'
'Nearly two hours, Bryan.'