'I believe you're right there, sir.If it wasn't for the misery of it, I shouldn't mind the hunger.'
'I should like to tell you how I came to go poking my nose into other people's affairs.Would you like to hear my story now?'
'If you please, sir.'
A little pallid curiosity seemed to rouse itself in the heart of the hopeless man.So Falconer began at once to tell him how he had been brought up, describing the country and their ways of life, not excluding his adventures with Shargar, until he saw that the man was thoroughly interested.Then all at once, pulling out his watch, he said,'But it's time I had my tea, and I haven't half done yet.I am not fond of being hungry, like you, Mr.De Fleuri.'
The poor fellow could only manage a very dubious smile.
'I'll tell you what,' said Falconer, as if the thought had only just struck him--'come home with me, and I'll give you the rest of it at my own place.'
'You must excuse me, sir.'
'Bless my soul, the man's as proud as Lucifer! He wont accept a neighbour's invitation to a cup of tea--for fear it should put him under obligations, I suppose.'
'It's very kind of you, sir, to put it in that way; but I don't choose to be taken in.You know very well it's not as one equal asks another you ask me.It's charity.'
'Do I not behave to you as an equal?'
'But you know that don't make us equals.'
'But isn't there something better than being equals? Supposing, as you will have it, that we're not equals, can't we be friends?'
'I hope so, sir.'
'Do you think now, Mr.De Fleuri, if you weren't something more to me than a mere equal, I would go telling you my own history? But Iforgot: I have told you hardly anything yet.I have to tell you how much nearer I am to your level than you think.I had the design too of getting you to help me in the main object of my life.Come, don't be a fool.I want you.'
'I can't leave Katey,' said the weaver, hesitatingly.
'Miss St.John is there still.I will ask her to stop till you come back.'
Without waiting for an answer, he ran up the stairs, and had speedily arranged with Miss St.John.Then taking his consent for granted, he hurried De Fleuri away with him, and knowing how unfit a man of his trade was for walking, irrespective of feebleness from want, he called the first cab, and took him home.Here, over their tea, which he judged the safest meal for a stomach unaccustomed to food, he told him about his grandmother, and about Dr.Anderson, and how he came to give himself to the work he was at, partly for its own sake, partly in the hope of finding his father.He told him his only clue to finding him; and that he had called on Mrs.Macallister twice every week for two years, but had heard nothing of him.De Fleuri listened with what rose to great interest before the story was finished.And one of its ends at least was gained: the weaver was at home with him.The poor fellow felt that such close relation to an outcast, did indeed bring Falconer nearer to his own level.
'Do you want it kept a secret, sir?' he asked.
'I don't want it made a matter of gossip.But I do not mind how many respectable people like yourself know of it.'
He said this with a vague hope of assistance.
Before they parted, the unaccustomed tears had visited the eyes of De Fleuri, and he had consented not only to repair Mrs.Chisholm's garret-floor, but to take in hand the expenditure of a certain sum weekly, as he should judge expedient, for the people who lived in that and the neighbouring houses--in no case, however, except of sickness, or actual want of bread from want of work.Thus did Falconer appoint a sorrow-made infidel to be the almoner of his christian charity, knowing well that the nature of the Son of Man was in him, and that to get him to do as the Son of Man did, in ever so small a degree, was the readiest means of bringing his higher nature to the birth.Nor did he ever repent the choice he had made.
When he waited upon Miss St.John the next day, he found her in the ordinary dress of a lady.She received him with perfect confidence and kindness, but there was no reference made to the past.She told him that she had belonged to a sisterhood, but had left it a few days before, believing she could do better without its restrictions.
'It was an act of cowardice,' she said,--'wearing the dress yesterday.I had got used to it, and did not feel safe without it;but I shall not wear it any more.'
'I think you are right,' said Falconer.'The nearer any friendly act is associated with the individual heart, without intervention of class or creed, the more the humanity, which is the divinity of it, will appear.'
He then told her about Nancy.
'I will keep her about myself for a while,' said Miss St.John, 'till I see what can be done with her.I know a good many people who without being prepared, or perhaps able to take any trouble, are yet ready to do a kindness when it is put in their way.'
'I feel more and more that I ought to make some friends,' said Falconer; 'for I find my means of help reach but a little way.What had I better do? I suppose I could get some introductions.--Ihardly know how.'
'That will easily be managed.I will take that in hand.If you will accept invitations, you will soon know a good many people--of all sorts,' she added with a smile.
About this time Falconer, having often felt the pressure of his ignorance of legal affairs, and reflected whether it would not add to his efficiency to rescue himself from it, began such a course of study as would fit him for the profession of the law.Gifted with splendid health, and if with a slow strength of grasping, yet with a great power of holding, he set himself to work, and regularly read for the bar.
