"You have something to tell me. There is something I can do for you in your trouble?"
Zenobia paused for a moment. Then, with some effort and a faint tinge of colour coming to her cheeks, continued:
"If you had come while my father lived, I could have told him...." She looked down, and drew a long deep sigh of distress. "I could have told him," she then went on with greater firmness, "that you, if you were willing, could help us, though so late, to do an act of justice to another. Mr. Herrick, it grieves me to tell you...."
She turned away and rested her elbows on the marble mantelpiece, unable for the moment to proceed.
"Perhaps I know more than you suppose," he said very gently, "and, perhaps, I can guess the rest."
"No," turning towards him, "I won't ask you to guess. Why should you help me, unless I tell you all, everything—everything, fully and frankly? Will you read this?"
He look the paper the girl placed in his hands, but did not immediately unfold it.
"I am willing to do anything you can wish, asking no questions," he said.
She looked at him with eyes that seemed to shine with grateful tears.
"You are good to me. I have no other friends."