The sergeant looked up at the policeman who had arrested her and said, "This story is not contrary to anything you saw?"
"No, sir; she was wandering about and seemed half out of her mind."
"Well, then, I can let you go."
"But I don't know where to go," she replied, looking at him with hunted, hollow eyes. "I feel as if I were going to be sick. Please don't turn me into the streets. I'd rather go back to the cell—"
"That won't answer. There's no place that I can send you to except the poorhouse. Haven't you any money?"
"No, sir. I just rushed away and left everything when I learned the truth."
"Tom Watterly's hotel is the only place for her," said the policeman with a nod.
"Oh, I can't go to a hotel."
"He means the almshouse," explained the sergeant. "What is your name?"
"Alida—that's all now. Yes, I'm a pauper and I can't work just yet. I'll be safe there, won't I?"