A prison for debtors! Henry went there as a visitor, and in company with a messenger of mercy. Long before, in the days of his boyhood, Henry had one playfellow whom above all others he loved. Frank, open-hearted, and affectionate was Albert; and Henry loved him.
Albert's father was in business, and he was deemed to be a prosperous man; but there had been one drawback to his prosperity—a worm in the bud; and, at length, after many years of downward progress, his business was closed, his family scattered, and himself an imprisoned debtor.
The prisoner was moodily pacing the narrow yard of the debtor's court, over the high spiked walls of which gleamed some doubtful rays of autumnal sunshine, when Henry and his father approached him. Henry drew back while his father spoke to the ruined man, and did not seek to know the subject of their conference; but he perceived that tears glistened in the prisoner's eyes, which told of thankfulness, and it might be also of expressed contrition.
"Ah, Mr. Henry," said the imprisoned debtor, when the conference was ended, and he held out his trembling hand to the youth as he spoke, "your father is noble and generous. I shall never forget his kindness, though I shall never have it in my power to return it. And Mr. Henry," he added, in a low, agitated tone, "look at me now, and think of what you knew me to be in appearance and character once, and take warning; it is the Eight Bells—ah, you know what I mean, I see—it is the Eight Bells that brought me to be what I am."
And saying this, the unhappy man wrung the hand of his young visitor, and then turning away, he wept.
———————
It was not many months after this that Henry accompanied his father to London; and as they passed through one of the streets, Mr. Ekworth's eye fell upon a countenance with which, as it seemed, he had once been familiar; for he suddenly stopped, and spoke to the man by name. The man was ragged and filthy; long straggling grey hair hung over his haggard face; his eyes were red, his lips purple, and a bright red spot on his cheek, while it contrasted with the death-like pallor of his forehead, told of disease. His voice was broken by a short and continued cough, and his hand trembled as he leaned it for support against the buttress of a wall, as he stood.
"You seem ill, Hallet," said Mr. Ekworth, compassionately, after he had expressed surprise at the unexpected meeting.
"Yes, sir, I am ill," said the ragged man.
"Have you been ill long?" inquired Henry's father.