“A woman!” the girl echoed in wonder, at the same time giving a gasp of relief at the discovery that her husband was not in trouble.  “Where in the world can she have come from, David?”

“I do not know,” he answered, “but she probably wandered off the main road.  It is some poor, wretched creature, Helen; she has been drinking, and is quite helpless.”

And Helen stood still in horror, while David arose and came to her.  “You are out of breath, dear,” he exclaimed, “why did you come so fast?”

“Oh, I was so frightened!” the girl panted.  “I cannot tell you, David, what happens in my heart whenever I think of your coming to any harm.  It was dreadful, for I knew something serious must be the matter.”

David put his arm about her and kissed her to quiet her fears; then he said, “You ought not to have come out, dear; but be calm now, for there is nothing to worry you, only we must take care of this poor woman.  It is such a sad sight, Helen; I wish that you had not come here.”

“What were you going to do?” asked the girl, forgetting herself quickly in her sympathy.

“I meant to come down and tell you,” was David’s reply; “and then go back to town and get someone to come and take her away.”

“But, David, you can never get back over that rough road in the darkness!” exclaimed Helen in alarm; “it is too far for you to walk, even in the daytime—­I will not let you do it, you must not!”

“But dear, this poor creature cannot be left here; it will be a bitter cold night, and she might die.”

Helen was silent for a moment in thought, and then she said in a low, trembling voice:  “David, there is only one thing to do.”

“What is that, dear?” asked the other.

“We will have to take her home with us.”

“Do you know what you are saying?” asked the other with a start; “that would be a fearful thing to do, Helen.”

“I cannot help it,” she replied, “it is the only thing.  And it would be wicked not to be willing to do that, because she is a woman.”

“She is in a fearful way, dear,” said the other, hesitatingly; “and to ask you to take care of her—­”

“I would do anything sooner than let you take that walk in such darkness as this!” was the girl’s reply; and with that statement she silenced all of his objections.

And so at last David pressed her hand, and whispered, “Very well, dear, God will bless you for it.”  Then for a while the two stood in silence, until Helen asked, “Do you think that we can carry her, poor creature?”

“We may try it,” the other replied; and Helen went and knelt by the prostrate figure.  The woman was muttering to herself, but she seemed to be quite dazed, and not to know what was going on about her.  Helen did not hesitate any longer, but bent over and strove to lift her; the woman was fortunately of a slight build, and seemed to be very thin, so that with David’s help it was easy to