She was one of
the band of Good Samaritan Sisters of Mercy established in some of our
London suburbs, who seek out the helpless and downtrodden in the race of
life--with healing in their hands and pity in their hearts--striving to
raise them up from their hopeless position to something better. She
stopped, bent down, and, drawing her veil aside, looked closely at the
motionless face. Then she sighed and turned her head away.
"So beautiful! So young! Can it be possible? Sister, sister!"
Jessica awoke at the gentle touch, and sprang to her feet.
"Johann! Don't strike me," she exclaimed, with her eyes half closed.
"I----"
"My poor girl, no one shall beat you. Will you come with me?"
"With you?" repeated Jessica, now fully awake, but still eyeing the
Sister with some suspicion. "Where? Not far?"
"No, not far. But why do you say that? Is there any one you particularly
wish to be near?"
"No," replied Jessica, adding to herself, as the sister of Mercy took
her hand, "but she shall not take me far away from him."
"A roof of thatch is better than that of heaven," is an old Spanish
proverb, and means, doubtless, that the poorest accommodation is better
than none, or that which the streets provide.
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