‘Can I—can I—’—the wanderer began feebly, but breath failed her, and she stood trembling.
‘Come in, my dear,’ said the woman compassionately, leading her to a chair in a cosy little kitchen. ‘Come in, and welcome. Lord, how pale you be! Have you come far?’
‘Yes. I want——’
‘Never mind about that, now—wait till I get thee a nice drink of warm milk, and then you can go on the Home.’
But even as she spoke the wanderer fainted away.
The good dame uttered an exclamation.
‘Poor dear, she’s fainted. How wet and draggled she be! Why, she must have tramped it all the way. Here, Johnnie—Johnnie!’
A flaxen-haired boy of about twelve appeared on the threshold.
‘Run up to the house, quick, and ask Sister Ursula, with mother’s compliments, to step down here at once. Poor unfortunate,’ she continued, chafing the woman’s fingers, ‘what pretty white hands she has! She looks like a lady born!’