“Have you no father, no mother to care for you?” he asks sadly.
“No, sir, not to care for me,” she answers, with a sob. “Father’s in gaol. Mother walks the streets like me, to make her bread. She told me I’d better do so too, unless I wanted to starve. That’s how it is, sir.”
He covers his face with one hand, and groans aloud. His thoughts have rushed back to the luxury he has but lately quitted; he compares it with the misery he has just witnessed. Once more his hand is in his pocket.
“If I give you this, my child,” he says, drawing out a five-pound note, “will you promise me to go home at once, and leave these streets of infamy and wrong; and if I give you my card, and promise to place you in a way of earning an honest livelihood, will you call at my house to-morrow for a letter which I will leave to be given to you? Will you try and get your mother, too, to come with you?”
She bursts into tears. “Ah, sir! may God in heaven bless you. Yes, yes, I will promise; indeed I will. Gladly, too gladly.”
He holds out to her the card and the bank-note. As she takes them she bends over his hand and kisses it passionately. He draws it gently away.
“Remember your promise,” he says quietly.
“I will,” she answers, between her sobs. “Oh God! I would die for you, sir.”
He watches her as she turns away and disappears in the gloom. Heavy tears are in his eyes.
“I must go home now,” he whispers to himself. “I cannot see more.”