Harley started from his seat, and, catching her in his arms, supported her from falling to the ground, looking wildly at the door, as if he wanted to run for assistance, but durst not leave the miserable creature.  It was not till some minutes after that it occurred to him to ring the bell, which at last, however, he thought of, and rung with repeated violence even after the waiter appeared.  Luckily the waiter had his senses somewhat more about him; and snatching up a bottle of water, which stood on a buffet at the end of the room, he sprinkled it over the hands and face of the dying figure before him.  She began to revive, and, with the assistance of some hartshorn drops, which Harley now for the first time drew from his pocket, was able to desire the waiter to bring her a crust of bread, of which she swallowed some mouthfuls with the appearance of the keenest hunger.  The waiter withdrew:  when turning to Harley, sobbing at the same time, and shedding tears, “I am sorry, sir,” said she, “that I should have given you so much trouble; but you will pity me when I tell you that till now I have not tasted a morsel these two days past.”—­He fixed his eyes on hers—­every circumstance but the last was forgotten; and he took her hand with as much respect as if she had been a duchess.  It was ever the privilege of misfortune to be revered by him.—­“Two days!” said he; “and I have fared sumptuously every day!”—­He was reaching to the bell; she understood his meaning, and prevented him.  “I beg, sir,” said she, “that you would give yourself no more trouble about a wretch who does not wish to live; but, at present, I could not eat a bit; my stomach even rose at the last mouthful of that crust.”—­He offered to call a chair, saying that he hoped a little rest would relieve her.—­He had one half-guinea left.  “I am sorry,” he said, “that at present I should be able to make you an offer of no more than this paltry sum.”—­She burst into tears:  “Your generosity, sir, is abused; to bestow it on me is to take it from the virtuous.  I have no title but misery to plead:  misery of my own procuring.”  “No more of that,” answered Harley; “there is virtue in these tears; let the fruit of them be virtue.”—­He rung, and ordered a chair.—­ “Though I am the vilest of beings,” said she, “I have not forgotten every virtue; gratitude, I hope, I shall still have left, did I but know who is my benefactor.”—­“My name is Harley.”—­“Could I ever have an opportunity?”—­“You shall, and a glorious one too! your future conduct—­but I do not mean to reproach you—­if, I say—­it will be the noblest reward—­I will do myself the pleasure of seeing you again.”—­Here the waiter entered, and told them the chair was at the door; the lady informed Harley of her lodgings, and he promised to wait on her at ten next morning.