"Yes; a drunken, gambling, cut-throat rowdy as ever grew ripe for the gallows. Now, will you tell me that there was nothing in that man but what the devil put there?"
Frank sat meditating awhile on this strange story, which is moreover a true one; and then looked up with something like tears in his eyes.
"And he did not die?"
"Not he! I saw him die afterwards—shot through the heart, without time even to cry out. But I have not forgotten what he did for me that night; and I'll tell you what, sir! I do not believe that God has forgotten it either."
Frank was silent for a few moments, and then Tom changed the subject.
"I want to know what you can tell me about this Mr. Vavasour."
"Hardly anything, I am sorry to say. I was at his house at tea, two or three times, when I first came; and I had very agreeable evenings, and talks on art and poetry: but I believe I offended him by hinting that he ought to come to church, which he never does, and since then our acquaintance has all but ceased. I suppose you will say, as usual, that I played my cards badly there also."
"Not at all," said Tom, who was disposed to take any one's part against Elsley. "If a clergyman has not a right to tell a man that, I don't see what right he has of any kind. Only," added he, with one of his quaint smiles, "the clergyman, if he compels a man to deal at his store, is bound to furnish him with the articles which he wants."
"Which he needs, or which he likes? For 'wanting' has both these meanings."
"With something that he finds by experience does him good; and so learns to like it, because he knows that he needs it, as my patients do my physic."