Nadia Budthorne had wept until the fount of tears seemed dry. She had beaten with her hands against the heavy door of her prison room until her knuckles streamed blood. She had shouted and screamed until she sank exhausted to the floor.
How much time had passed she knew not. When a tray of food was slipped into the room she had no knowledge of the occurrence. She first saw it on the floor near the door, but not a morsel did she touch.
She lay prone and helpless and despairing when a rustling sound startled and aroused her. She rose swiftly on one hand, and then a cry of astonishment escaped her pale lips, for before her stood a beautiful girl. Behind the stranger the door was silently closing.
“Who—who—are—you?” asked Nadia hoarsely.
“Your friend,” was the answer, in a softly sympathetic voice.
“Friend? You are a stranger.”
“Still I am your friend. Let me help you.”
“Your voice!” muttered Nadia. “It seems familiar, somehow, and yet—I’ve never seen you before.”
The strange girl assisted Nadia to rise, and led her to a couch. She was much larger than Nadia, and seemed somewhat older.
“My poor child!” she murmured. “How you have suffered!”