The man’s first thought was to get out of the cut before another train should come.  He grasped his companion’s arm and started up the steep embankment, realizing as he did so that the wrist he held was slender, and that the sleeve which covered it was of the finest cloth.

They struggled up, scarcely pausing for breath.  The steps at the side of the bridge, made for the convenience of railroad hands, were out of the question, for they were at a dizzy height, and hung unevenly over the yawning pit where trains shot constantly back and forth.

As they emerged from the dark, the man saw that his companion was a young and beautiful woman, and that she wore a light cloth gown, with neither hat nor gloves.

At the top of the embankment they paused, and the girl, with her hand at her throat, looked backward with a shudder.  She seemed like a young bird that could scarcely tell which way to fly.

Without an instant’s hesitation, the young man raised his hand and hailed a four-wheeler across the street.

“Come this way, quick!” he urged, helping her in.  He gave the driver his home address and stepped in after her.  Then, turning, he faced his companion, and was suddenly keenly aware of the strange situation in which he had placed himself.

“Can you tell me what is the matter,” he asked, “and where you would like to go?”

The girl had scarcely recovered breath from the long climb and the fright, and she answered him in broken phrases.

“No, I cannot tell you what is the matter”—­she paused and looked at him, with a sudden comprehension of what he might be thinking about her—­“but—­there is nothing—­that is—­I have done nothing wrong—­” She paused again and looked up with eyes whose clear depths, he felt, could hide no guile.

“Of course,” he murmured with decision, and then wondered why he felt so sure about it.

“Thank you,” she said.  Then, with frightened perplexity:  “I don’t know where to go.  I never was in this city before.  If you will kindly tell me how to get somewhere—­suppose to a railroad station—­and yet—­no, I have no money—­and”—­then with a sudden little movement of dismay—­“and I have no hat!  Oh!”

The young man felt a strong desire to shield this girl so unexpectedly thrown on his mercy.  Yet vague fears hovered about the margin of his judgment.  Perhaps she was a thief or an adventuress.  It might be that he ought to let her get out of the odd situation she appeared to be in, as best she might.  Yet even as the thought flashed through his mind he seemed to hear an echo of her words, “I saw you were a gentleman,” and he felt incapable of betraying her trust in him.

The girl was speaking again:  “But I must not trouble you any more.  You have been very kind to get me out of that dreadful place.  If you will just stop the carriage and let me out, I am sure I can take care of myself.”

“I could not think of letting you get out here alone.  If you are in danger, I will help you.”  The warmth of his own words startled him.  He knew he ought to be more cautious with a stranger, but impetuously he threw caution to the winds.  “If you would just tell me a little bit about it, so that I should know what I ought to do for you——­”