"Nobody knew it," Lilly answered.
"Wall," the widow said, "ye had no sort o' business to come, though the Lord knows they's need enough of help."
"Perhaps He sent me, Sarah," the girl said, gently. "Oh, the poor, poor baby! Let me take it."
Widow Gatchell's keen eyes swept the girl's compassionate face with a searching gaze. She rose stiffly and laid the child in her arms.
"There!" she said, drawing a long breath. "You're in for it now, Lilly O'Connell, and may the Lord have mercy on ye!"
When Dr. Horton entered the pest-house in the morning, the first person he encountered was Lilly O'Connell, coming through the hall with a tray in her hands. In her closely fitting print dress and wide apron, the sleeves turned back from her smooth, strong arms, her face earnest, yet cheerful, she was the embodiment of womanly charity and sweetness. He started as though he saw a spectre.
"Good heavens!" he said; "how came you here? Who—who permitted you to come here?"
"No one," said Lilly, supporting the waiter on the post at the foot of the stairs. "I just came. I asked Dr. Starkey to take me as nurse, but he refused."
"I know, I know," said the young man. He stepped back and opened the door, letting in the crisp morning air. "But why did you come? It is a terrible place for you."
"I came to be of use," she answered, smiling. "I hope I am useful. Ask Mrs. Gatchell. She will tell you that I am useful, I am sure."