but my idea went beyond _that_.
There's plenty of ladies nowadays taking an interest in the miserable,
and spending their means unselfishly. What I hoped was to raise up for
the poor and the untaught a friend out of their own midst, some one who
had gone through all that they _suffer_, who was accustomed to earn her
own living by the work of her hands as _they_ do, who had never thought
herself their better, who saw the world as they see it and knew all
their wants. A lady may do good, we know that; but she can't be the
friend of the poor as I understand it; there's too great a distance
between her world and theirs. Can you picture to yourself how anxiously
I've watched this child from the first day she came to live with me?
I've scarcely had a thought but about her. I saw very soon that she had
good feelings, and I set myself to encourage them. I wanted her to be
able to read and write, but there was no need of any more education
than that; it was the heart I cared about, not the mind. Besides, I had
always to keep saying to myself that perhaps, after all, she wouldn't
turn out the kind of woman I wished, and in that case she mustn't be
spoiled for an ordinary life. Sidney, it's this money that has made me
a weak old man when I might still have been as strong as many at fifty;
the care of it has worn me out; I haven't slept quietly since it came
into my hands. But the worst is over. I shan't be disappointed. Jane
will be the woman I've hoped for, and however soon my own life comes to
an end, I shall die knowing that there's a true man by her side to help
her to make my idea a reality.

'I've mentioned Mr. Percival, the lawyer. He's an old man like myself,
and we've had many a long talk together. About a year and a half ago I
told him what I've told you now. Since I came back to England he's been
managing the money for me; he's paid me the little we needed, and the
rest of the income has been used in charity by some people we could
trust. Well, Mr. Percival doesn't go with me in my plans for Jane. He
thinks I'm making a mistake, that I ought to have had the child
educated to fit her to live with rich people. It's no use; I can't get
him to feel what a grand thing it'll be for Jane to go about among her
own people and help them as nobody ever could. He said to me not long
ago, "And isn't the girl ever to have a husband?" It's my hope that she
will, I told him. "And do you suppose," he went on, "that whoever
marries her w