“Janet! is it you?  For Heaven’s sake, what is the matter?”

But I could only sob in answer.

“Has anything happened up Sandy?  Did you come for me?”

The poor fellow leaned over me, his face pale with surprise and agitation.

“Take me out of here,” was all I could muster composure enough to say.

He opened the door, and I escaped into the open air.  We walked side by side through the streets, he silently respecting my agitation with a delicacy for which I had not given him credit, and I struggling to grow calm.  At last he opened a little side-gate.

“Come in here, Janet; we shall be quiet here.”

And I entered a sort of garden:  the grounds belonging to the city waterworks I have since known them to be.  We sat down on a bench that overlooked the Kentucky hills.  I love the seat now.  I think the sight of the familiar fields and trees calmed me, and I was able at last to answer Tom’s anxious questions.

“It is nothing; indeed, it is nothing.  I am a foolish coward, and I was frightened walking through the city, and then the sight of a home-face upset me.”

“But, Janet, why are you here?  Is anything wrong about the works, the men?  Did Mr. Hammond send you down?”

“No, indeed, no! it was only a fancy of mine to see the world.  I am tired of that lonely life, and you know I am not needed there.  My mother can get along without me, and I am only a burden to my father.”

“Not needed?  Why, Janet, what will the Sandy country be without you?”

My eyes filled up with tears again.

“Don’t ask me any more questions, dear Tom; only help me for a little while, till I can help myself.  I want to earn my living somehow, but I have money enough to live upon till I can find something to do.  Only find me a place to stay quietly in while I am looking for work.  You are the only person I know in this great city; and who will help me, if you do not?”

“You know I will help you with my whole heart and soul, Janet,” he said, his voice faltering.

I looked up, and in one moment rushed back upon me the remembrance of his words that day in the boat, and I stood aghast at the new trouble that seemed to rise before me.  My voice must have changed as I said,—­

“I only want you to find me a place to live in; I can take care of myself”; for his countenance fell, and he sat silent for some moments.

At last he spoke:—­

“I know I cannot do much, Janet, but what I can I will.  And, first, I will take you to the house of a widow-woman who has a room to let; one of our men wanted me to take it, but it was too far from my work.  I went to see the place, though, and it is quiet and respectable; the woman looks kind, too.  Would you walk slowly down the street, while I go to the office and get my coat?”—­he was in his working-dress,—­“and then I’ll join you.”