Elizabeth on her feet again, but it was
only while he removed his overcoat and wrapped it about her slight
shivering body.

"You are chilled through, poor child," he said; "and you are not strong
enough to walk just now. You must let me carry you."

It was true that a sudden faintness had come upon her, and she could not
restrain the shudder which shook her. It still shook her when she was
placed in the carriage which the two gentlemen had thought it wiser to
leave in one of the more respectable streets when they went to explore
the worse ones together.

"What might not have occurred if we had not arrived at that instant!"
said Uncle Bertrand when he got into the carriage. "As it is who knows
what illness--"

"It will be better to say as little as possible now," said Dr. Norris.

"It was for the poor," said Elizabeth, trembling. "I had prayed to the
Saints to tell me what was best I thought I must go. I did not mean to do
wrong. It was for the poor."

And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her with a strangely agitated look,
and Dr. Norris held her hand between his strong and warm ones, the tears
rolled down her pure, pale little face.

She did not know until some time after what danger she had been in, that
the part of the city into which she had wandered was the lowest and
worst, and was in some quarters the home of thieves and criminals of
every class. As her Uncle Bertrand had said, it was impossible to say
what terrible thing might have happened if they had not met her so soon.
It was Dr. Norris who explained it all to her as gently and kindly as was
possible. She had always been fragile, and she had caught a severe cold
which caused her an illness of some weeks. It was Dr. Norris who took
care of her, and it was not long before her timidity was forgotten in her
tender and trusting affection for him. She learned to watch for his
coming, and to feel that she was no longer lonely. It was through him
that her uncle permitted her to send to the _cure_ a sum of money large
enough to do all that was necessary. It was through him that the poor
woman and her children were clothed and fed and protected. When she was
well enough, he had promised that she should help him among his own poor.
And through him--though she lost none of her sweet sympathy for those
who suffered--she learned to live a more natural and child-like life, and
to find that there were innocent, natural pleasures to be enjoyed in the
world. In time