ks better than
any one in England, and there's none she doesn't know from duchesses
down."

"She is beautiful?" asked Faith, with hesitation.

"Taller than you, but not so beautiful."

Faith sighed, and was silent for a moment, then she laid a hand upon the
other's shoulder. "Thee has never said what happened when thee first got
to London. Does thee care to say?"

"It seems so long ago," was the reply.... "No need to tell of the
journey to London. When I got there it frightened me at first. My head
went round. But somehow it came to me what I should do. I asked my
way to a hospital. I'd helped a many that was hurt at Heddington and
thereabouts, and doctors said I was as good as them that was trained. I
found a hospital at last, and asked for work, but they laughed at me--it
was the porter at the door. I was not to be put down, and asked to see
some one that had rights to say yes or no. So he opened the door and
told me to go. I said he was no man to treat a woman so, and I would not
go. Then a fine white-haired gentleman came forward. He had heard all we
had said, standing in a little room at one side. He spoke a kind word
or two, and asked me to go into the little room. Before I had time to
think, he came to me with the matron, and left me with her. I told her
the whole truth, and she looked at first as if she'd turn me out. But
the end of it was I stayed there for the night, and in the morning the
old gentleman came again, and with him his lady, as kind and sharp of
tongue as himself, and as big as three. Some things she said made my
tongue ache to speak back to her; but I choked it down. I went to her to
be a sort of nurse and maid. She taught me how to do a hundred things,
and by-and-by I couldn't be too thankful she had taken me in. I was with
her till she died. Then, six months ago I went to Miss Maryon, who
knew about me long before from her that died. With her I've been ever
since--and so that's all."

"Surely God has been kind to thee."

"I'd have gone down--down--down, if it hadn't been for Mr. Claridge at
the cross-roads."

"Does thee think I shall like her that will live yonder?" She nodded
towards the Cloistered House. "There's none but likes her. She will want
a friend, I'm thinking. She'll be lonely by-and-by. Surely, she will be
lonely."

Faith looked at her closely, and at last leaned over, and again laid a
soft hand on her shoulder. "Thee thinks that--why?"

"He cares only what matters to h