But what would happen if she thoughtlessly accepted all that his sympathy might offer?
Scandal would point to her beauty and to his youth, and would place its own vile interpretation on the purest friendship that could exist between them.
And he would be the sufferer, for he had a character—a clergyman's character—to lose.
No.
For his sake, out of gratitude to him, the farewell to Mablethorpe House must be also the farewell to Julian Gray.
The precious minutes were passing.
She resolved to write to the matron and ask if she might hope to be forgiven and employed at the Refuge again.
Occupation over the letter that was easy to write might have its fortifying effect on her mind, and might pave the way for resuming the letter that was hard to write.
She waited a moment at the window, thinking of the past life to which she was soon to return, before she took up the pen again.
Her window looked eastward.
The dusky glare of lighted London met her as her eyes rested on the sky.
It seemed to beckon her back to the horror of the cruel streets—to point her way mockingly to the bridges over the black river—to lure her to the top of the parapet, and the dreadful leap into God's arms, or into annihilation—who knew which?
She turned, shuddering, from the window.
"Will it end in that way," she asked herself, "if the matron says No?"
She began her letter.
"DEAR MADAM—So long a time has passed since you heard from me that I almost shrink from writing to you.
I am afraid you have already given me up in your own mind as a hard-hearted, ungrateful woman.
"I have been leading a false life; I have not been fit to write to you before to-day.
Now, when I am doing what I can to atone to those whom I have injured—now, when I repent with my whole heart—may I ask leave to return to the friend who has borne with me and helped me through many miserable years?
Oh, madam, do not cast me off!
I have no one to turn to but you.
"Will you let me own everything to you?
Will you forgive me when you know what I have done?
Will you take me back into the Refuge, if you have any employment for me by which I may earn my shelter and my bread?
"Before the night comes I must leave the house from which I am now writing.
I have nowhere to go to.
The little money, the few valuable possessions I have, must be left behind me: they have been obtained under false pretenses; they are not mine.
No more forlorn creature than I am lives at this moment.
You are a Christian woman.
Not for my sake—for Christ's sake—pity me and take me back.
"I am a good nurse, as you know, and I am a quick worker with my needle.
In one way or the other can you not find occupation for me?
"I could also teach, in a very unpretending way.
But that is useless.
Who would trust their children to a woman without a character?
There is no hope for me in this direction.
And yet I am so fond of children!
I think I could be, not happy again, perhaps, but content with my lot, if I could be associated with them in some way.
Are there not charitable societies which are trying to help and protect destitute children wandering about the streets?
I think of my own wretched childhood—and oh!
I should so like to be employed in saving other children from ending as I have ended.
I could work, for such an object as that, from morning to night, and never feel weary.
All my heart would be in it; and I should have this advantage over happy and prosperous women—I should have nothing else to think of.
Surely they might trust me with the poor little starving wanderers of the streets—if you said a word for me?
If I am asking too much, please forgive me.
I am so wretched, madam—so lonely and so weary of my life.
"There is only one thing more.
My time here is very short.
Will you please reply to this letter (to say yes or no) by telegram?
"The name by which you know me is not the name by which I have been known here.