There was something almost like a child in her voice just then, almost as earnest and as pure. The preacher took out his handkerchief and wiped his face; then he changed his hat awkwardly from hand to hand.
"Why, why, really, we have no provision in our Sabbath school for cases like this: we have been meaning to establish an institution of a missionary character, but the funds cannot be raised just yet. I am sorry; I don't know but--"
Meg turned sharply away, her hands dropping lifelessly; she moved toward the door. They were alone now in the church, they two.
The minister's pale cheek flushed; he stepped after her.
"I will send you to some of the city missionaries, or I will go with you to the Penitents' Retreat. I should like to help you. I--"
He would have exhorted her to reform as kindly as he knew how; he felt uncomfortable at letting her go so; he remembered just then who washed the feet of his Master with her tears. But she would not listen. She turned from him, and out into the storm, some cry on her lips,--it might have been:--
"There ain't nobody to help me. I _was_ going to be better!"
She sank down on the snow outside, exhausted by the racking cough which the air had again brought on.
The sexton found her there in the shadow, when he locked the church doors.
The sight of her touched the man, she lying there alone in the snow; he lingered, hesitated, thought of his own warm home, looked at her again. If a friendly hand should save the creature,--he had heard of such things. Well? But how could he take her into his respectable home? What would people say?--the sexton of the Temple! He had a little wife there too, pure as the snow upon the ground to-night. Could he bring them under the same roof?
"Meg!" he said, speaking in his nervous way, though kindly, "you _will_ die here. I'll call the police and let them take you where it's warmer."
She walked away as fast as she was able, till she found a still place down by the water, where no one could see her. There she stood a moment irresolute, looked up through the storm as if searching for the sky, then sank upon her knees down in the silent shade of some timber.
Perhaps she was half-frightened at the act, for she knelt so a moment without speaking. There she began to mutter: "Maybe He won't drive me off; if they did, maybe he won't. I should just like to tell him, anyway!"