"We have walked."

"You don't say that you have trudged
all the way with that youngster?"

The housekeeper drowned the reply by
loudly announcing to the old gentleman that
his supper was waiting; "We have no
lodgings, my good woman," she said, turning
away from the gate.

"Stop, Martha, stop," said the citizen;
"can't we direct them somewhere? you see
they are strangers. I wonder where they
could get a lodging?"

"I am sure I don't know," replied Martha,
peevishly; "your supper will be cold—come
in!"

"We've had no supper," said the boy.

"Poor little fellow! " said the old gentleman;
"then I am sure you shall not go without.
Martha, the bread and cheese!" And,
opening the garden gate, he made the travellers
enter and sit down in the summer-house, whilst
he went to fetch them a draught of cider.

In spite of Martha's grumbling, he managed
to get a substantial repast; but it grieved
him that the woman, though she thanked
him very gratefully and humbly, appeared
unable to eat.

"Your boy eats heartily," said he, "but I
am afraid you don't enjoy it."

With a choking utterance she thanked
him, but could not eat.

The good old man was striving, as well as
he could, to explain to them their way to a
part of the city, where they might find a
lodging, when the garden-gate opened, and a
young man gave to the host a hearty greeting.

At the sound of his voice, the cup the
woman held in her hand fell to the ground.
This drew the youth's attention to her; he
looked earnestly at her for a moment, and,
with an exclamation of surprise, said, "Why,
this is Susan Harvey!"

The woman hid her face in her hands, and
moaned.

"Do you know her, then, Alfred? " said
the uncle.

"She nursed me when I was a little sickly
boy, replied the youth; she lived many years
in my father's house."

"Then I am sure you will take her to some
lodging to-night, for she is quite a stranger
here. There is Martha calling to me again;
she is not in the best temper to-night, so I had
better go in, and I leave them to your care."

"Oh! tell me, Mr. Gray, have you seen
him?" cried the woman eagerly.

"I have been with him to-day, Susan,"
said Gray, kindly taking her hand; "do not
be cast down; all that can be done for
Martin, shall be done. Let me take you
where you can rest to-night, and to-morrow
you can be with him."

The weary little boy had fallen asleep on
the seat; the mother strove to arouse him,
but Alfred Gray prevented her, by taking the
little fellow in his arms. He carried him by
her side through the streets; she could utter
no words of gratitude, but her tears flowed fast,
and told how the young man's sympathy had
fallen like balm upon her wounded heart.
"God has taken pity on me," she said, when
they parted.

With a quick step Alfred regained his
uncle's cottage; he had a difficult task to
accomplish. Martin Harvey, now awaiting
his trial for poaching, and for being concerned
in an affray with Sir George Roberts' game-
keepers, had once been his father's apprentice.
Young Gray had been endeavouring to
procure for him all the legal help which the
laws then allowed; but his own means were
limited, and, when he met Susan and her boy
in the garden, he had come to visit his uncle
to ask his assistance. He had now returned
on the same errand. He pleaded earnestly,
and with caution, but was repulsed. It was
in vain he urged the poverty of agricultural
labourers at that season, and the temptation
which an abundance of game afforded to half-
starved men and their wretched families.

"Nonsense, Alfred! " said old Mr. Gray.
"I would not grudge you the money if you
did not want it for a bad purpose. You must
not excuse men who go out with guns and
fire at their fellow-creatures in the dark."

"Martin did not fire, uncle—that is what I
want to prove, and save him, if I can, from
transportation. He has a wife and child."

"Wife and child," repeated the old man
thoughtfully. "You did not tell me he had
a wife and child; that poor woman came
from Uffculme."

"Providence must have guided her," said
the younger Gray. "It was indeed Harvey's
wife and son whom you so lately relieved."

"You shall have the money. I have all
through life prayed that my heart may not
be hardened; and I find, old as I am, that,
every day I have fresh lessons to learn."

The next morning, while Alfred held
anxious consultation with the lawyers, the
wife and husband met within the prison walls.
They sat together in silence, for neither could
speak a word of hope. The boy never forgot
that long and dreary day, during which he
watched, with wondering thoughts, the sad
faces of his ruined parents.

The Crown Court at the Castle was next
morning crowded to overflowing. Among
the struggling crowd that vainly sought to
gain admission, was Martin Harvey's wife.
She was rudely repulsed by the door-keepers,
who "wondered what women wanted in such
places." She still strove to keep her ground,
and watched with piteous looks the doors of
the court. She braved the heat and pressure
for some time; but a sickly faintness at
length came over her. She was endeavouring
to retreat into the open air, when
she felt some one touch her shoulder, and
turning, saw Alfred Gray making his way
toward her. After a moment's pause in the
cool air, he led her round to a side door,
through which there was a private entrance