The virulence with which she uttered this last somewhat unjust, remark, stung him sharply.
“Aye, madam,” he echoed bitterly. “An’ God help all poor, unfortunate souls that are dependent upon the likes of you for Christian mercy, too!”
But his words only greeted empty air, for the door was slammed violently to in his face.
Feeling sick at heart, he wandered away, only meeting with more or less indifference at the other addresses that Carey had given him. By this time a strange nervousness, entirely foreign to his nature, began to assail him. Men he understood and could deal with. But women—ah, that was a very different matter.
He was just on the point of abandoning his quest in despair when he beheld a woman coming out of a store opposite to where he stood. The light of a great relief immediately lit up his troubled eyes for, in the plain, homely, blue-serge uniform that she wore, with its red-barred bonnet, he recognized at a glance the all-familiar badge of the Salvation Army—that long-suffering and too frequently disparaged organization which, nevertheless, spreads its gospel of humility and help to the ends of the earth; whose followers, whilst always remaining nobly indifferent to the shafts of misguided ridicule leveled against them from time to time by members of many far less charitable sects, never shrink from entering the lowly dwellings of the poorest of the poor—aye—and the foulest dens of iniquity—in the practical fulfilment of their creed of genuine Christian mercy and succor.
Ellis looked eagerly at the slight figure for a moment. Why not try her? he reflected. Surely she wouldn’t turn him down, like the rest? Didn’t the Salvationists always hold a service for the prisoners in the guardroom every Sunday morning? And didn’t they help out all the poor devils who were down and out when their sentences were expired—giving them shelter, food, and clothes, and finding them jobs? Yes, he would ask her!
He crossed over and, with a few quick strides, overtook the little woman, who stopped at his salutation and turned a worn, patient face to his, regarding him with astonishment meanwhile, out of a pair of kindly brown eyes.
Why did he stammer and hesitate like that? she wondered. Surely he could not be afraid of her? For the Sergeant’s voice and manner betrayed a curious timidity just then, that was strangely out of keeping with his bronzed, hard-bitten face and athletic figure. His recent experiences had rendered him decidedly nervous in approaching women. She listened to his request with passive interest, and nodded her acquiescence, gazing intently, all the time, at his bandaged head.
“I’m afraid you must have got hurt bad,” she said sympathetically. “It was all in this morning’s paper, an’ everybody’s full of it. I came up on the early train to nurse a sick woman here. I remember seeing you once before, a long time ago, at the Barracks. I was in the Female Gaol, talking to Mrs. Stratford, the matron, an’ you came over from the guardroom.”
“Would to God you’d been here last night!” he blurted out passionately.