, when Harriet observed her. As her hands,
parting on her sunburnt forehead, swept across her face, and threw
aside the hindrances that encroached upon it, there was a reckless and
regardless beauty in it: a dauntless and depraved indifference to more
than weather: a carelessness of what was cast upon her bare head from
Heaven or earth: that, coupled with her misery and loneliness, touched
the heart of her fellow-woman. She thought of all that was perverted and
debased within her, no less than without: of modest graces of the mind,
hardened and steeled, like these attractions of the person; of the many
gifts of the Creator flung to the winds like the wild hair; of all
the beautiful ruin upon which the storm was beating and the night was
coming.

Thinking of this, she did not turn away with a delicate indignation--too
many of her own compassionate and tender sex too often do--but pitied
her.

Her fallen sister came on, looking far before her, trying with her eager
eyes to pierce the mist in which the city was enshrouded, and glancing,
now and then, from side to side, with the bewildered--and uncertain
aspect of a stranger. Though her tread was bold and courageous, she was
fatigued, and after a moment of irresolution,--sat down upon a heap of
stones; seeking no shelter from the rain, but letting it rain on her as
it would.

She was now opposite the house; raising her head after resting it for a
moment on both hands, her eyes met those of Harriet.

In a moment, Harriet was at the door; and the other, rising from her
seat at her beck, came slowly, and with no conciliatory look, towards
her.

'Why do you rest in the rain?' said Harriet, gently.

'Because I have no other resting-place,' was the reply.

'But there are many places of shelter near here. This,' referring to the
little porch, 'is better than where you were. You are very welcome to
rest here.'

The wanderer looked at her, in doubt and surprise, but without any
expression of thankfulness; and sitting down, and taking off one of her
worn shoes to beat out the fragments of stone and dust that were inside,
showed that her foot was cut and bleeding.

Harriet uttering an expression of pity, the traveller looked up with a
contemptuous and incredulous smile.

'Why, what's a torn foot to such as me?' she said. 'And what's a torn
foot in such as me, to such as you?'

'Come in and wash it,' answered Harriet, mildly, 'and let me give you
something to bind it up.