"Yes,—quite alone."
"Then don't you see how foolish you are? You are taking into your house a mere tramp,—a beggar who is more likely to die than live! Do you realise how dangerous this is for you? I may be an escaped convict,—a thief—even a murderer! You cannot tell!"
She smiled and nodded at him as a nurse might nod and smile at a fanciful or querulous patient.
"I can't tell, certainly, and don't want to know!" she replied—"I go by what I see."
"And what do you see?"
She patted his thin cold hand kindly.
"I see a very old man—older than my own dear father was when he died—and I know he is too old and feeble to be out at night in the wet and stormy weather. I know that he is ill and weak, and suffering from exhaustion, and that he must rest and be well nourished for a few days till he gets strong again. And I am going to take care of him,"—here she gave a consoling little pressure to the hand she held. "I am indeed! And he must do as he is told, and take off his wet clothes and get ready for bed!"
Something in Helmsley's throat tightened like the contraction of a rising sob.
"You will risk all this trouble,"—he faltered—"for a stranger—who—who—cannot repay you—?——"
"Now, now! You mustn't hurt me!" she said, with a touch of reproach in her soft tones—"I don't want to be repaid in any way. You know Who it was that said 'I was a stranger and ye took me in'? Well, He would wish me to take care of you."