see;" Mr. Wharncliffe's
voice broke her meditations.

"I saw her at her crossing one day. Isn't she a good girl?"

"She _is_ a good girl, I think. What do you think?"

"O I think so," said Matilda; "I thought so before; but--Mr.
Wharncliffe--I am afraid she is very poor."

"I am not afraid so; I know it."

"She will not tell me where she lives," said Matilda rather wistfully.

"Do you want to know?"

"Yes, I wanted to know; but I think she did not want I should."

"Did you think of going to see her, that you tried to find out?"

"I would have liked to go, if I could," said Matilda, looking
perplexed. "But she seemed to think I wouldn't like it, or that I ought
not, or something."

"She is right," said Mr. Wharncliffe. "You would not take any pleasure
in seeing Sarah's home; and you cannot go there alone. But with me you
may go. I will take you there, if you choose."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, sir. I would like it."

Truth to tell, Matilda would have liked a walk in any direction and for
any purpose, in company with that quiet, pleasant, kind, strong face.
She had taken a great fancy and given a great trust already to her new
teacher. That walk did not lessen either. Hand in hand they went along,
through poor streets and in a neighbourhood that grew more wretched as
they went further; yet though Matilda was in a measure conscious of
this, she seemed all the while to be walking in a sort of spotless
companionship; which perhaps she was. The purity made more impression
upon her than the impurity. And, withal that the part of the city they
were coming to was very miserable, and more wicked than miserable,
Matilda saw it through an atmosphere of very pure and sweet talk.

She drew a little closer to her guide, however, as one after another
sight and sound of misery struck her senses. A knot of drunken men
wrestling; single specimens, very ugly to see; voices loud and brutal
coming out of drinking shops; haggard-looking, dirty women, in dismal
rags or finery worse yet; crying children; scolding mothers; a
population of boys and girls of all ages, who evidently knew no
Sabbath, and to judge by appearances had no home; and streets and
houses and doorways so squalid, so encumbered with garbage and filth,
so morally distant from peace and purity, that Matilda felt as if she
were walking with an angel through regions where angels never stay.
Perhaps Mr. Wharncliffe noticed the tightening clasp of her fingers