I saw you every morning.

You spoke to me sometimes." "You are a soldier ?" she asked, with a new note in her voice.
"I was then--till the war finished." "And now?
Why have you come here ?" "To offer you help if you need it.

If not, to ask your pardon and go away." The shrouded figure in the chair burst suddenly into rapid hysterical talk in some foreign tongue which Dickson suspected of being French.
Heritage replied in the same language, and the girl joined in with sharp questions.

Then the Poet turned to Dickson.
"This is my friend.

If you will trust us we will do our best to help you." The eyes rested on Dickson's face, and he realized that he was in the presence of something the like of which he had never met in his life before.