“My dear,” she said, “you may safely tell me everything.  Whatever I can do to help you shall be done, and where I am powerless there are others who are my friends and may be of assistance.  Scully is my name—­ Mrs. Lavinia Scully, of London.  Don’t cry, my poor girl, but tell me all about it, and let us see how we can put matters right.”

Thus encouraged, Kate wiped away the tears which had been brought to her eyes by the unwonted sound of a friendly voice.  Leaning forward as far as she could, and preventing herself from falling by passing her arm round a great branch which shot across the top of the shed, she gave in as few words as she could a detailed account of all that had befallen her.  She described her guardian’s anxiety that she should marry his son, her refusal, their sudden departure from London, their life at the Priory, the manner in which she was cut off from all human aid, and the reasons which made her believe that an attempt would be made upon her life.  In conclusion, she narrated the scene which had occurred that very morning, when her guardian had tempted her to commit suicide.  The only incident which she omitted from her story was that which had occurred the night before, for she felt that it might put too severe a tax upon Mrs. Scully’s credulity.  Indeed, looking back at it, she almost persuaded herself that the sight which she had seen might be some phantom conjured up by her own imagination, weakened as she was in mind and in body.

Having concluded her narrative, she wound up by imploring her new-found friend to assist her by letting her friends in London know what had become of her and where she was.  Mrs. Scully listened with a face which expressed alternately the most profound pity and the most burning indignation.  When Kate had finished, she sat silent for a minute or more entirely absorbed in her own thoughts.  She switched her whip up and down viciously, and her usually placid countenance assumed an expression so fierce that Kate, looking down at her, feared that she had given her offence.  When she looked up at last, however, she smiled so pleasantly that the poor girl was reassured, and felt instinctively that she had really found a true and effective friend at last.

“We must act promptly,” she said, “for we don’t know what they may be about, or what their plans are for the future.  Who did you say your friends were?”

“Dr. Dimsdale, of Phillimore Gardens, Kensington.”

“Hasn’t he got a grown-up son?”

“Yes,” said Kate, with a slight flush on her pale cheeks.

“Ah!” cried the good lady, with a very roguish smile.  “I see how the land lies.  Of course, of course, why shouldn’t it?  I remember hearing about that young man.  I have heard about the Girdlestones also.  African merchants they were in the City.  You see I know all about you.”

“You know Tom?” Kate cried in astonishment.

“Oh, don’t let us get talking of Tom,” said Mrs. Scully good-humouredly.  “When girls get on a subject of that sort there’s an end to everything.  What I want now is business.  In the first place I shall drive down to Bedsworth, and I shall send to London.”