"Come in, come in," said Basil, clutching Old Corrie by the arm, as though he feared to lose him, and dragging him into the house; "this is indeed a meeting to be thanking for. It is I who am in luck."
He regarded it as an omen of good fortune. If Old Corrie were thus unexpectedly found, why not Newman Chaytor? And, besides, here was a trusty friend upon whom he could rely--here was a man whose evidence would go far to establish his identity, to restore his good name, to give the lie to his traducers. He looked upon this meeting as the opening of a brighter chapter in his strange career, and with this cheering thought in his mind he ascended the stairs to his one room at the top of the house, still keeping tight hold of Corrie, who, accompanied him, willingly enough, in a kind of amazed silence.
"I must find a candle," said Basil, pushing Old Corrie, into the room before him. "You won't run away, Corrie?"
"No fear, Master Basil," replied Corrie. "I am not in a run-away humour. Shouldn't wonder, supposing I get encouragement, if I develop the qualities of a leech."
"I promise you encouragement enough," said Basil, with a little laugh. His spirits were almost joyous; youth seemed to be returning to him.
"I wait for proof," observed Corrie sententiously. "Friends are none so plentiful in this hard world."
"True, true," assented Basil, groping about for a candle. "You could swear to me in the dark, eh?"
"If needful."
"That's more than some would do in the full light of the blessed sun. I could sing for joy."
"Hold your hand, Master Basil; let us exchange a few more words in darkness. I am speculating whether you are changed."