The lady turned, with a low, smothered shriek, to see who had touched her, but on finding that it was a young female, a stranger, she drew herself up haughtily, and said, in a low, grating voice—“What do you want with me?”
Lotte quietly took a firm hold of her elegant mantle, and then replied, in an earnest tone—
“Pardon me! you are smitten by some terrible grief.”
“Well!” replied the young lady, coldly, as Lotte paused.
“Oh, do not repel me!” she cried, fervidly; “pray do not. I am aware it may appear intrusive and rude in me to trespass upon your sorrow”——
“You are right; it is both rude and intrusive. Leave me!” interrupted the young lady, a little vehemently, endeavouring at the same time, to remove her mantle from Lotte’s grasp, but she retained her hold, and continued in urgent tones—
“As Heaven is my witness, I am animated by no common motives! You are a lady: I am humble. Grief knows no distinction: the human heart is susceptible of misery, though a diadem may glitter upon the brow of its possessor. The rich are not exempt from its blight, even though it be the common inheritance of the poor. I have been destitute, am poor”——
The young lady turned her unbending head away, still cold and stern. By a rapid movement, she drew a purse from the pocket of her dress; and, offering it to Lotte, said, almost harshly—
“Take it and leave me!”
“Oh, madam! madam!” cried Lotte, passionately, “do not misconstrue me. You are a woman, as I am; we are both equal in the eyes of the Creator. He gave us our lives to hold in trust—not to fling wildly away, and rush unbidden into His dread presence.”