The poor man shook his head despondingly and helplessly, and tears ran down his cheeks.
"I dare not relieve you now and here," said Mr. Ekworth, after a moment's painful hesitation; "for if you should promise not to misuse the gift, I could not trust to your strength of mind to resist temptation. But is your wife living?"
"She is, poor thing—she is," said the wretched man.
"Tell me where you live, then, Hallet."
"It is not a fit place for you to go to, sir, it is not indeed," said Hallet, eagerly.
"I am sorry for it, for it is only through her that I can assist you."
The man's eager countenance fell. "I will tell you where we live, then, sir," said he, reluctantly; "but you will find what I say is true; it is not a fit place for a human creature to live in."
"I will call on you and your wife this afternoon," said Mr. Ekworth, when he had obtained the information he sought. "Stay; you say you have expended your last penny, and it may be you are hungry; or if you are not, your wife may be. Will you carry home a loaf?"
"Oh yes, if you will trust me with it, sir," said Hallet, earnestly; and the loaf having been obtained at a baker's shop close by, the poor, wretched man hastened away, and Mr. Ekworth and his son went on.
"You do not remember that man, Henry," said Mr. Ekworth, after a short silence. "He lived in our town when you were a child. He was a thriving mechanic then. Poor Hallet!"