"I will take you to a lady who has daughters," said Deronda, immediately. He felt a sort of relief in gathering that the wretched home and cruel friends he imagined her to be fleeing from were not in the near background. Still she hesitated, and said more timidly than ever—
"Do you belong to the theatre?"
"No; I have nothing to do with the theatre," said Deronda, in a decided tone. Then beseechingly, "I will put you in perfect safety at once; with a lady, a good woman; I am sure she will be kind. Let us lose no time: you will make yourself ill. Life may still become sweet to you. There are good people—there are good women who will take care of you."
She drew backward no more, but stepped in easily, as if she were used to such action, and sat down on the cushions.
"You had a covering for your head," said Deronda.
"My hat?" (she lifted up her hands to her head.) "It is quite hidden in the bush."
"I will find it," said Deronda, putting out his hand deprecatingly as she attempted to rise. "The boat is fixed."
He jumped out, found the hat, and lifted up the
