“If I am innocent! oh, Miss Floy,” sobbed the girl, “you don’t think me a thief, do you?”
“No, Annie, I don’t, if that’s any comfort to you, poor child!”
“I’m glad of that!” Annie said, a gleam of pleasure flitting over her tear-swollen face, then burst out again, “But oh, what shall I do? Oh, if I only had five dollars! Miss Floy, can you lend it to me? I’ll pay it back some day, and never, never forget to ask God to bless you for your kindness.”
“I would if I could, Annie, but I haven’t half that sum,” Floy was beginning to say, when a sudden recollection stopped her.
In the old pocket-book found upon Mr. Kemper’s person after his death, and kept by her as a sacred relic, she had safely stowed away the golden half-eagle he had given her but a few moments before the awful accident that had made her an almost penniless orphan.
For herself she would not have spent it unless reduced to the last extremity of want; but her noble, generous heart could not withstand Annie’s appeal.
“Wait here a moment; I will see,” she said in tremulous tones, and hurried from the room.
Up to her own she ran, locked herself in, opened her trunk, and, diving to the bottom, drew forth the old, worn, faded pocket-book.
For a moment she held it lovingly in her hand, hot tears rushing to her eyes as she thought of that terrible scene enacted scarce a year ago.