“I can hardly express to you my feelings as these several discoveries revealed to me little by little the conditions and character of my traveling companion.  Brought up myself under a narrow home influence, with only a limited knowledge of the world, I had never yet been thrown in with a woman of her class.  And yet I cannot say that it was altogether the charm of her person that moved me.  It was more a certain hopeless sort of sorrow that seemed to envelop her, coupled with an indefinable distrust which I could not solve.  Her reserve, however, was impenetrable, and her guarded silence on every subject bearing upon herself so pronounced that I dared not break through it.  Yet, as she sat there in the carriage after dinner, during the earlier hours of the night, she and I the only occupants, her eyes heavy and red for want of sleep, her beautiful hair bound in a veil, the pallor of her skin intensified by the sombre hues of her dress, I would have given anything in the world to have known her well enough to have comforted her, even by a word.

“As the night wore on the situation became intolerable.  Every now and then she would start from her seat, jostled awake by the roughness of the road,—­this section had just been completed,—­turn her face the other way, only to be awakened again.

“’You cannot sleep.  May I make a pillow for your head of my other shawl?  I do not need it.  My coat is warm enough.’

“‘No; I am very comfortable.’

“’Forgive me, you are not.  You are very uncomfortable, and it pains me to see you so weary.  These dividing-irons make it impossible for you to lie down.  Perhaps I can make a cushion for your head so that you will rest easier.’

“She looked at me coldly, her eyes riveted on mine.

“’You are very kind, but why do you care?  You have never seen me before, and may never again.’

“’I care because you are a woman, alone and unprotected.  I care most because you are suffering.  Will you let me help you?’

“She bent her head, and seemed wrapped in thought.  Then straightening up, as if her mind had suddenly resolved,—­

“’No; leave me alone.  I will sleep soon.  Men never really care for a woman when she suffers.’  She turned her face to the window.

“‘I pity you, then, from the bottom of my heart,’ I replied, nettled at her remark.  ’There is not a man the length and breadth of my land who would not feel for you now as I do, and there is not a woman who would misunderstand him.’

“She raised her head, and in a softened voice, like a sorrowing child’s, it was so pathetic, said:  ’Please forgive me.  I had no right to speak so.  I shall be very grateful to you if you can help me; I am so tired.’