"Shall I fetch some holy minister to pray beside you, my lady?" said Mrs. Batley; "one to whom you can pour forth the sorrows of your heart?"
"Do so! oh, do!" cried Amabel, "and do not call me lady. I am not worthy to be placed in the same rank as yourself."
"Her wits are clean gone," muttered Mrs. Batley, looking at her compassionately.
"Heed me not," cried Amabel; "but if you have any pity for the unfortunate, do as you have promised."
"I will—I will," said Mrs. Batley, departing.
Half an hour, which scarcely seemed a moment to the poor sufferer, who was employed in fervent prayer, elapsed before Mrs. Batley returned. She was accompanied by a tall man, whom Amabel recognised as Solomon Eagle.
"I have not been able to find a clergyman," said the old woman, "but I have brought a devout man who is willing to pray with you."
"Ah!" exclaimed the enthusiast, starting as he beheld Amabel. "Can it be Mr. Bloundel's daughter?"
"It is," returned Amabel with a groan. "Leave us, my good woman," she added to Mrs. Batley, "I have something to impart to Solomon Eagle which is for his ear alone." The old woman instantly retired, and Amabel briefly related her hapless story to the enthusiast.
"May I hope for forgiveness?" she inquired, as she concluded.