He came toward her, took her hand and held it in one of his, while the other stroked her cheek with a swift, momentary touch. He seemed trying to convince himself that it was indeed a living woman here before him.
"You, alive!" he said, and his voice rose to a cry of joy, only to sink next moment to a low, gentle tone. "You here, in my house! What does it mean?"
There was much in his manner that astonished her. But at the same time, it gave her a little courage. Here at least was one who did not look on her misfortune with cold indifference.
"You wrote so kindly to your wife this morning," she said. "And I have always heard so much good of you. Will you help me now? I am in the greatest need that ever any could be."
The tears flowed from her eyes. And in her extremity, her desperate need of help, she threw herself on her knees before him.
He did not help her to rise at once. Instead, he laid one hand on either shoulder, and bent over her, his face almost touching her.
"You helped me once," he said, "when I was in my sorest need. Do you not think I should be glad to repay you that a thousand times, if it were in my power?"
Suddenly he checked himself, and, regaining calmness, moved quietly away from her and drew up a chair.
"Will you not tell me how all this came about?"
She stood up beside him, and began hesitatingly: