The woman's heart, hungering in its horrible isolation for something that it might harmlessly love, welcomed the rescued waif of the streets as a consolation sent from God.
She caught the stupefied little creature up in her arms.

"Kiss me!" she whispered, in the reckless agony of the moment.

"Call me sister!" The child stared, vacantly.

Sister meant nothing to her mind but an older girl who was strong enough to beat her.
She put the child down again, and turned for a last look at the man whose happiness she had wrecked--in pity to _him_.
He had never moved.

His head was down; his face was hidden.