“Mr Balm!” she whispered, in a voice from which every expression but wonder was gone.
Gilead rose, with a smile, and crossing the room swiftly, put a firm detaining hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“Come,” he said, “tell us all about it from beginning to end.”
His tone was unmistakable. With one amazed look at him, the young fellow dropped his face into his single palm, and bowed his shoulders as if quite broken with grief.
“Come,” said Gilead a second time; “it was a test, no more. Don’t you know us, man?”
It was evident that he did not. In a few sweet sympathetic words Miss Halifax informed him of the nature of the harbour of refuge into which he had drifted—in despair, it appeared; almost without a hope. Even when he realized at last his happy fortune, it was minutes before they could restore him to a frame of mind meet for explanations. But at length, abashed, grateful, half stunned in the prospect of help, he faltered out a desire to be questioned—and condemned, if need be.
“That is very well, then,” said Gilead. “You must tell us, if you will, as much about your life and circumstances as is necessary to an elucidation of the matter.”
“If you will only begin by questioning me, sir,” answered the visitor, evidently greatly overcome, as he seated himself diffidently on the chair to which he was motioned. “I think—I believe that I should find it easier to answer than explain. There is so much that is bewildering, as well as so much that is shameful in my story. But I will speak the whole truth; I will leave out nothing. Only question me.”
Gilead, seated opposite, nodded his assent reassuringly.
“I am sure you will,” he said. “Tell me, in the first place, who you are.”