“I am running away,” replied Maria then.

“Running away!  From what?”

“It is better for me to be away,” said Maria, evading the question.  “It would be better if I were dead.”

“But you are not,” said the dwarf, with a quick movement almost of alarm.

“No,” said Maria; “and I see no reason why I shall not live to be an old woman.”

“I don’t either,” said Miss Blair.  “You look healthy.  You say, better if you were dead—­better for whom, yourself or others?”

“Others.”

“Oh!” said Miss Blair.  She remained quietly regardful of Maria for a little while, then she spoke again.  “Where are you going when you reach New York?” she asked.

“I was going out to Edgham, but I shall miss the last train, and I shall have to go to a hotel,” replied Maria, and she looked at the dwarf with an expression of almost childish terror.

“Don’t you know that it may be difficult for a young girl alone?  Have you any baggage?”

Maria looked at her little satchel, which she had left beside her former chair.

“Is that all?” asked Miss Blair.

“Yes.”

“You must certainly not think of trying to go to a hotel at this time of night,” said the dwarf.  “You must go home with me.  I am entirely safe.  Even your mother would trust you with me, if you have one.”

“I have not, nor father, either,” replied Maria.  “But I am not afraid to trust you for myself.”

A pleased expression transfigured Miss Blair’s face.  “You do not distrust me and you do not shrink from me?” she said.

“No,” replied Maria, looking at her with indescribable gratitude.

“Then it is settled,” said the dwarf.  “You will come home with me.  I expect my carriage when we arrive at the station.  You will be entirely safe.  You need not look as frightened as you did a few moments ago again.  Come home with me to-night; then we will see what can be done.”

Miss Blair turned her face towards the window.  Her big chair almost swallowed her tiny figure, the sardonic expression had entirely left her face, which appeared at once noble and loving.  Maria gazed at her as she sat so, with an odd, inverted admiration.  It seemed extraordinary to her she should actually admire any one like this deformed little creature, but admire her she did.  It was as if she suddenly had become possessed of a sixth sense for an enormity of beauty beyond the usual standards.

Miss Blair glanced at her and saw the look in her eyes, and a look of triumph came into her own.  She bent forward towards Maria.

“You are sheltering me as well as I am sheltering you,” she said, in a low voice.

Maria did not know what to say.  Miss Blair leaned back again and closed her eyes, and a look of perfect peace and content was on her face.

It was not long before the train rolled into the New York tunnel.  Miss Blair’s maid rose and took down her mistress’s travelling cloak of black silk, which she brushed with a little, ivory brush taken from her travelling-bag.