“Yes, yes, I’m going,” said the miserable wretch, gathering himself up. “I’m sorry I came to you, Hallam. I thought you would have helped a poor wretch, down as I am.”
“And you found out your mistake. A man in my position does not know a gaol-bird.”
There was a flash from the sunken eyes, and a quick gesture, but the flash died out, and the gesture seemed to be cut in half. Two years’ hard labour in one of His Majesty’s gaols had pretty well broken the weak fellow’s spirit. He stepped to the door, glanced round the comfortable room, uttered a low moan, and was half out, when Hallam uttered sharply the one word “Stop!”
His visitor paused, and looked eagerly round upon him.
“Look here, Stephen Crellock,” he said, “I don’t like to see a man like you go to the dogs without giving him a chance. There, come back and close the door!”
The poor wretch came back hurriedly, and made a snatch at Hallam’s hand, which was withdrawn.
“No, no, wait till you’ve proved yourself an honest man,” he said.
Crellock’s eyes flashed again, but, as before, the flash died out at once, and he stood humbly before his old fellow clerk.
Hallam remained silent for a few moments, and then as if he had made up his mind, he said: “I ought to hand you over to the constable, that is, if I did my duty as manager of Dixons’ Bank, and a good member of society; but I can’t forget that you were once a smart, gentlemanly-looking young fellow, who slipped and fell.”
Crellock stood bent and humbled, staring at him in silence.