A dry sob rose in her throat, but she choked it back, and advancing till she was in the midst of the throng, paused suddenly, and began to sing in a low but thrilling voice that favorite old song, "Home, Sweet Home," at the same time holding out her tiny white hand for largess.
It was a desperate deed, but poor Kathleen was a desperate girl, and knew little more of the evil of the world than a little baby. She was so eager to get money to go home, and she thought that out of this great crowd there might be many who would pay her for singing the simple little song that everybody loved so well—"Home, Sweet Home—The Song That Reached My Heart."
[CHAPTER XVII.]
"WILL YOU BE MY OWN SWEET WIFE, KATHLEEN?"
"Love thee? So well, so tenderly,
Thou'rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and happiness
Are worthless without thee!"
Kathleen had a sweet and bird-like voice, that had held crowded drawing-rooms entranced in the happier days that now seemed so far away.
As that exquisite voice—timid at first, and faltering, but gradually gaining strength and volume—rose upon the night air the young girl was at once surrounded by a wondering and admiring throng.
Her desperate courage began to give way as she saw herself hemmed in by the crowd, and the impulse seized her to fly; but she beat it bravely back, for already silver coins began to rain into the small, white, outstretched hand that seemed so ridiculously dainty and aristocratic for a street beggar.
"Jove! what a regular beauty!" one man whispered to another, as he gazed eagerly into the sweet, flower-like face.