"He is here—he is in London—he is at your door!" said Louisa emphatically; "and as far as I could see by the light of the candle that I had with me when I answered his knock, he is in rags and tatters."
"And he wishes to see me?" said Eliza, musing.
"Yes, ma'am."
There was a pause of a few moments.
"I will see him," exclaimed Eliza, in a decided tone, after some consideration. "He may be in want—in distress; and I cannot forget that he proclaimed my innocence in the dock of the Old Bailey."
Louisa left the room: and in another minute the convict Stephens stood in the presence of Eliza Sydney.
Altered! he was indeed altered. His eyes were sunken and lustreless—his cheeks wan and hollow—his hair prematurely tinged with grey—and his form thin and emaciated. He was moreover clad in rags—absolute rags.
"My God!" ejaculated Eliza: "in what a condition do you return to your native land!"
"And heaven alone knows what sacrifices I have made, and what hardships I have undergone to come back!" said Stephens in a hollow voice.
"You are pardoned, then?"