“Stay,” said she; “tell me frankly where you are going, and what is your object.”
“Alas! madam, I am going anywhere, for I have no home; but I wish to live, and work for my living, in order that my child may not want for anything. I wish I could maintain myself—he used to say I could.”
“He!—your language and manner are not those of a peasant. What can you do? What do you know?”
“Music, and work, and—and—”
“Music!—this is strange! What were your parents?”
Alice shuddered, and hid her face with her hands.
The lady’s interest was now fairly warmed in her behalf.
“She has sinned,” said she to herself; “but at that age, how can one be harsh? She must not be thrown upon the world to make sin a habit. Follow me,” she said, after a little pause; “and think you have found a friend.”
The lady then turned from the high-road down a green lane which led to a park lodge. This lodge she entered; and after a short conversation with the inmate, beckoned to Alice to join her.
“Janet,” said Alice’s new protector to a comely and pleasant-eyed woman, “this is the young person—you will show her and the infant every attention. I shall send down proper clothing for her to-morrow, and I shall then have thought what will be best for her future welfare.”