Mrs. Hart looked at him earnestly, and tears started to her eyes.
"Oh, my friend," she murmured, "I believe that God has sent you to me. I see in your face and I hear in your voice that you still can feel for me. God bless you! my noble, my only friend! Yes, you can help me. There is no secret of mine which I need hide from you. I will tell you all--when I get stronger--and you shall help me. But I am very weak now," she said, wearily.
Obed looked away, and for a time said not one word. But that strong frame, which not long before had dared the shots of a desperate enemy, now trembled violently at the tears of an old woman. With a powerful effort he gulped down his emotion.
"Where are you living?" he asked, in a voice which had changed to one of strange sweetness and tenderness. "You are weak. Will you let me drive you now to your home?"
For a few moments Mrs. Hart looked at him piteously, and made no reply.
"I think it will be better for you to go home in my carriage," said Obed, gently urging her.
She still looked at him with the same piteousness.
"In what part of the city do you live?" said Obed, as he took her hand and drew it inside his arm. "Come, let me lead you to the carriage."
Mrs. Hart held back for a moment, and again looked at him.
"_I have no home_," she said, in a voice which had died away to a whisper.