"What is it?" I asked, going towards her with an irresistible
impulse of sympathy.

"I don't know," she murmured; "a sudden pain here," laying her hand
on her heart.

I advanced still nearer, but her face, which had been quite pale,
turned suddenly rosy; and, with a more natural expression, she took
me by the hand, and said:

"But you look more than ill, you look unhappy. Would you mind
telling me what worries you?"

The gentle tone, the earnest glance of modest yet sincere interest,
went to my heart. Clutching her hand convulsively, I burst into
tears.

"It is nothing," said I; "only my last resource has failed, and I
don't know where to get a meal for to-morrow. Not that this is any
thing in itself," I hastened to add, my natural pride reasserting
itself; "but the future! the future!--what am I to do with my
future?"

She did not answer at first. A gleam--I can scarcely call it a
glow--passed over her face, and her eyes took a far-away look that
made them very sweet. Then a little flush stole into her cheek, and,
pressing my hand, she said:

"Will you trust it to me for a while?"