For Christ’s sake! You may blame me, but what could I do? Could any of you refuse if you were asked in that name? You may say any one can use such words—any vagabond, any wretch—and, of course, it is true; but could you resist the plea—you who are neither a wretch nor a vagabond?—I know you could not, any more than me.
‘Lean upon me,’ I said; ‘take my arm; try if you can walk. Oh! I don’t know who you are or what you are, but when you ask for Christ’s sake, you know, He sees into your heart. If you have any place that I can take you to, tell me; you must know it is difficult to take a stranger into one’s house like this. Tell me if you have not some room—some place where you can be taken care of; I will give you what you want all the same.’
We were going on all this time, walking slowly towards my house; she was gasping, holding one hand to her heart and with the other leaning heavily on me. When I made this appeal to her she stopped and turned half round, waving her hand towards the house we were leaving behind us.
‘If that is Mr. Reinhardt’s house,’ she said, ‘take me there if you will. I am—his wife. He’ll leave me to die—on the doorstep—most likely; and be glad. I haven’t strength—to—say any more.’
‘His wife!’ I cried in my dismay.
‘Lord have mercy upon us!’ cried the panting creature. ‘Ay! that’s the truth.’
What could I do? She was scarcely able to totter along, panting and breathless. It was her heart. Poor soul! how could any one tell what she might have had to suffer? I took her, though with trembling—what could I do else?—to my own house.
CHAPTER IV
I cannot attempt to describe what my feelings were when I went into my own house with that strange woman. Though it was a very short way, we took a long time to get there. She had disease of the heart evidently, and one of the paroxysms had come on.
‘I shall be better by and by,’ she said to me, gasping as she leaned on my arm.