[Illustration]

X

Dunham slept very little that night.  His soul was hovering between joy and anxiety.  Almost he was inclined to find some way to send her word about the man he had seen lingering about the place, and yet perhaps it was foolish.  He had doubtless been to call on the cook, and there might be no connection whatever between what Dunham had heard and seen and the lonely girl.

Next day, with careful hands, the girl made herself neat and trim with the few materials she had at hand.  Her own fine garments that had lain carefully wrapped and hidden ever since she had gone into service were brought forth, and the coarse ones with which she had provided herself against suspicion were laid aside.  If any one came into her room while she was gone, he would find no fine French embroidery to tell tales.  Also, she wished to feel as much like herself as possible, and she never could feel quite that in her cheap outfit.  True, she had no finer outer garments than a cheap black flannel skirt and coat which she had bought with the first money she could spare, but they were warm, and answered for what she had needed.  She had not bought a hat, and had nothing now to wear upon her head but the black felt that belonged to the man she was going to meet.  She looked at herself pityingly in the tiny mirror, and wondered if the young man would understand and forgive?  It was all she had, any way, and there would be no time to go to the store and buy another before the appointed hour, for the family had brought unexpected company to a late lunch and kept her far beyond her hour for going out.

She looked down dubiously at her shabby shoes, their delicate kid now cracked and worn.  Her hands were covered by a pair of cheap black silk gloves.  It was the first time that she had noticed these things so keenly, but now it seemed to her most embarrassing to go thus to meet the man who had helped her.

She gathered her little hoard of money to take with her, and cast one look back over the cheerless room, with a great longing to bid it farewell forever, and go back to the world where she belonged; yet she realized that it was a quiet refuge for her from the world that she must hereafter face.  Then she closed her door, went down the stairs and out into the street, like any other servant on her afternoon out, walking away to meet whatever crisis might arise.  She had not dared to speculate much about the subject of the coming interview.  It was likely he wanted to inquire about her comfort, and perhaps offer material aid.  She would not accept it, of course, but it would be a comfort to know that some one cared.  She longed inexpressibly for this interview, just because he had been kind, and because he belonged to that world from which she had come.  He would keep her secret.  He had true eyes.  She did not notice soft, padded feet that came wobbling down the street after her, and she only drew a little further out toward the curbing when a blear-eyed, red face peered into hers as she stood waiting for the car.  She did not notice the shabby man who boarded the car after she was seated.