"Let me go! Let me go, I say! I'm tired—tired of men—tired of men like you!" she wailed. "I want to go home—I want to go back to my father—back to my father...."
And still he held on to her, held on until he got her underneath the street lamps, where he looked into her face. She was worn and haggard, but her dark, lustrous eyes were something to remember. "She must have been very beautiful," he thought, and wondered.
"Look at me!" he said in a voice that startled her into consciousness; "you've got to trust me! I'm going to take you home——"
"My home?" she cried feebly.
"Yes. Where is your home?"
The girl made no answer, but commenced to weep. At length, she said:
"If I had a home, do you suppose I would have attempted what you have just prevented me from doing? Home? Let me go, pleas
