He knew, as he slowly turned away, that the matter did not end there. You must not only be a student of human nature in order to drive a pen. Circumstance must be anticipated as well. There may be nature in everything, but it is the playful hand of Circumstance which brings it to your eyes. So, he slowly turned away--oh, but very slowly--with just so much show of action as was necessary to convey that he had no intention to remain.
But every sense in him was ready for the moment when her voice arrested him.
"You have not," said she, "taken the candle that you paid for." Her voice was low to a whisper.
He came round on his heel at once.
"No--it's the last. I didn't notice that when I dropped my penny in."
"But you ought to take it."
"I left it for you."
"But why should you?"
"It seemed possible that you might want to light it more than I did."
What did he mean by that? That she was poor, poorer than he? That the generosity of St. Joseph was of greater account to her? It was. It must be surely. No one could need more sorely the assistance of the powers of heaven than she did then.