Mr. Waring looked up, seemed annoyed, and hastened to exclaim:
"Now, Valentine, if you have come again about going to see your sick wife, and all that humbug, I tell you it is no manner of use. I have been wearied nearly to death already with fruitless importunity, and I want to hear no more of it."
"Oh, sir!"
"I tell you it is of no use to talk to me!"
"Ah, but Master Oswald, only listen, even if you do no more!" pleaded Valentine, in the fond hope of an ardent nature, that, judging from the earnestness of his feelings, believes that if he gains a hearing, he gains his cause.
"Well, well! but I warn you it will be wasted breath."
"Ah, sir, do not say so! I am nearly crazy with trouble, sir, when I think of Fannie and poor little Coralie. She was very poor, sir, and the child was very sick, even before the pestilence appeared. Now she has the fever in that horrible place, with no one to help her or to take care of the poor child. She may be dying, sir, even while I speak! she may be dying, as many of the poor in that doomed city die, deserted—alone—but for the famishing infant, whose cries add to her own sufferings; she may have, as many of the poor have, famine and burning thirst added to her fever, with no one near to place to her lips a morsel of food or a drop of water! Think of it, sir! My God! do you wonder that I am almost frantic?" cried the young man, earnestly, beseechingly clasping his hands.
"An imaginary picture altogether, Valentine," coolly remarked Mr. Waring.
"A common reality among the poor of the city, this dreadful season, sir. You know it. You have heard it and read it. And she is very poor, sir. She and the child often suffered, even before the pestilence came and stopped her work with all the rest. Judge what her condition must be now. Oh, my God!" cried the young man, in a voice of agony.
"Your fears exaggerate the case, Valentine. There are almshouses and hospitals, and sisters of charity and relief funds, and all those sort of contrivances for the very poor."