It is a wretched-looking street in an old city. A lady and a policeman stand on the sidewalk at an open door, inside which a stair goes up darkly.
Said the man:—
“You had better let me go up with you, lady. She’s always furious when she is just out of jail. We find it best to let her alone for a while.”
“I would rather go up alone,” the lady said. “Is the stair safe?”
“There’s no one else will touch you,” said the policeman. “It is the room at the head of the last stair. I will stay round till you come down. But you must be careful. She doesn’t like visitors, especially missionaries.”
The lady went upstairs. There were three dirty, discolored flights. She tapped once and again at the door of the attic chamber; but there was no response. She opened the door.
There was a miserable room where everything seemed to be dirt-colored. In one corner was a bed on the floor. There was not a thread of white about it. From some rolled-up garments that answered for a pillow looked out a wild face. The dark hair was tangled, the face hollow, dark circles surrounded the eyes. “What do you want?” came roughly from the creature as the door softly opened.
“Let me come in, please!” said a quiet voice. “I have knocked twice.”
“What do you want?” the voice repeated yet more roughly.
The lady came in and closed the door behind her. She stood a moment, hesitating. Then, hesitating still, approached the bed, step by step, saluted again fiercely by a repetition of the question, “What do you want?” the woman rising on one elbow as she spoke.