If you can believe this, if you can take me upon trust,
and stretch forth your hand to help me, knowing no more of me than I
have now told you, I shall accept your assistance proudly and
gratefully. But if you cannot believe, let me go my own way."
"I will trust you," he said; "I will help you, blindly, since it must
be so. Let me ask you two or three questions, then all questioning
between us shall be at an end."
"I am ready to answer any inquiry that it is possible for me to
answer."
"Your name?"
"My name is Honoria Milford."
"Your age?"
"Eighteen."
"Tell me, how is it that your manner of speaking, your tones of voice,
are those of a person who has received a superior education?"
"I am not entirely uneducated. An Italian priest, a cousin of my poor
mother's, bestowed some care upon me when I was in Florence. He was a
very learned man, and taught me much that is rarely taught to a girl of
fourteen or fifteen. His house was my refuge in days of cruel misery,
and his teaching was the only happiness of my life. And now, sir,
question me no further, I entreat you."
"Very well, then, I will ask no more; and I will trust you."
"I thank you, sir, for your generous confidence."
"And now I will tell you my plans for your future welfare," Sir Oswald
continued, kindly. "I was thinking much of you while I breakfasted. You
have a very magnificent voice; and it is upon that voice you must
depend for the future.
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