“You could not bore me; and I would not miss one moment of the beginning. Tell me all.”
“My name is Luke Sparrow, so named by the matron of the Foundlings’ Institution to which I was carried when a month old, or thereabouts, by the arm of the Law. I began life on a door-step—a suburban door-step. I have never known home, or kith, or kin. Like Melchisedec of old, I am without father, without mother, without descent; but there the resemblance ends; for Melchisedec was King of Salem, which is King of Peace, whereas I, from my infancy, have been possessed by a most restless demon. I was ‘Returned Empty’ and marked ‘Glass with Care’——”
“Returned empty?” There was horror in her voice. “What—what do you mean?”
“The label,” he said; “the label pinned to the unwanted bundle had, printed in bold letters, on one side: Returned Empty, under which somebody who knew it, had written, presumably, the date of my birth. On the other side was printed Glass with Care, beneath which the same careful person had taken the trouble to write a Bible reference, most explicitly explaining the exact value of the said bundle: Luke xii. 6. ‘Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings?’ This apt quotation inspired the matron, on christening Sunday, to bestow upon me the name of Luke Sparrow. She was a good woman and meant well. But it was, ever after, a standing joke at the institution.”
“Not one of them is forgotten before God,” said Lady Tintagel.
“Yes, I know. But the close of the verse did not appear to be applicable, the bundle not containing a genuine sparrow but merely a lonely little human child, ‘Returned Empty.’”
“Returned?” she said; “Empty!” There was tragedy in her voice.
He laughed. “Yes; very empty—so the nurses said. Well, it was a bad beginning. The physical emptiness was soon remedied; but the mental and spiritual void remained unfilled. I’ve lived an utterly lonely life; and the misery of it was, I didn’t seem able to accept companionship; I had no capacity for friendship, no wish for homelife. I have always been seeking, seeking, seeking for something I could not find. Lots of people wanted to be friendly; heaps of people tried to be kind; but I could not take their friendship, or accept their kindness. To misquote a well-known saying, I was ‘in the world but not of the world.’ And then I had a vice.”
“A vice?” Her eyes, which never left his face, darkened with apprehension.
“Yes; a vice. Oh, not drink, or drugs, or other depravity. I have kept my body sane and clean, and without much effort either. I love the sea too well, and swim in it too often, for any form of moral squalor to have a chance.”