The would-be suicide struggled hard to release himself, but he was weak, very weak, and Harcourt, inspired by the sudden joy of saving him, held him fast.
“Let me go! Who are you that would save a tortured and maddened wretch from rest and peace?” demanded the stranger, still struggling, though now very feebly, for his poor strength was failing, and he seemed more like fainting than resisting. “Who are you? Who are you, I say?”
“Another tortured and maddened wretch, who, two nights ago, if conscience had not restrained him, would have sought rest and peace as you wish to seek them now, but would not have found them, as you would not have found them if you had taken that fatal plunge. What is your trouble, man? Tell me. Possibly, possibly, possibly, I may be able to help you bear it. God grant that I may! Come, what is your trouble?” demanded Harcourt, setting the stranger down upon a large box, placing himself at his side, and passing his arm around the man’s waist, the better to protect him from himself.
“Trouble!” cried the other. “Trouble enough! Illness all autumn. No work. Wife and children freezing, starving, in a cellar. No food for two days. Everything pawned but just enough clothes to cover our nakedness. Trouble, indeed!”
“Good Heaven! good Heaven! It is incredible! ‘In a whole city full!’” exclaimed Harcourt, quoting Hood. “Come with me. The stores are not all closed yet. We will get coal and wood, and have a fire and a supper. Come!”
“I—I——What do you mean?” demanded the dazed little man.
“‘All men are brethren.’ I cannot see my brother hunger or freeze while I have the means of getting him food and a fire. Come with me.”
And Harcourt arose and took the man by the arm and raised him up.
The two walked from the pier.
There was a restaurant near at hand, Harcourt first took his protégé in there, ordered beefsteak and coffee, and made him eat.