“I am myself a child of woe and persecution. Come in, for some few hours yet you will be safe here.”
With a shriek the poor maniac threw herself at Ada’s feet, and attempted to kiss them.
“How I love to hear a word of kindness! Is there a human heart can feel for poor Mad Maud!—Is there a human voice can speak to me in tones of pity?”
“There is,” said Ada. “God knows I pity you; but you are hurt—come in—come in—I dare not myself stand here.”
“Hush—hush!” said Maud, holding up her finger and smiling. “Do not speak—you are young and beautiful; but do not speak, for I heard just now the voice of one of God’s ministering angels. The tone was low and sweet; but I knew it—Ha, ha! I knew it—’tis comfort to poor Maud.”
“’Twas I that spoke,” said Ada.
“Hark—hark! There again! Is it indeed you?”
“It is.”
“Shall you stay long?”
“Stay where?”