"Oh, no! crimes like mine are not so readily forgiven. I escaped!"
"Escaped!" exclaimed Eliza: "and are you not afraid of being recaptured?"
"I must run that risk," replied Stephens, sorrowfully. "But give me food—I am hungry—I am starving!"
The unhappy man sank upon a chair as he uttered these words; and Eliza summoned Louisa to bring refreshments.
The servant placed a tray laden with provisions upon the table, and retired.
Stephens then fell ravenously upon the food thus set before him; while tears stood in Eliza's eyes when she thought that the miserable wretch had once commanded in that house where he now craved a morsel of bread!
At length the convict terminated his meal.
"I had eaten nothing," he said, "since yesterday afternoon, when I spent my last penny to procure a roll. Last night I slept in a shed near the docks, a large stone for my pillow. All this day I have been wandering about the most obscure and wretched neighbourhoods of London—not knowing whither to go, and afraid to be seen by any one who may recognise me. Recognise me!" he added, in a strange satirical manner: "that would perhaps be difficult;" then, linking his voice almost to a whisper, he said in a tone of profound and touching melancholy, "Do you not find me much—very much altered?"
"You have doubtless suffered deeply," said Eliza, wiping away the tears from her eyes; for at that moment she remembered not the injury brought by that man upon herself—she saw and knew of nought save the misery of the hapless being before her.
"You weep, Eliza," exclaimed Stephens, "you weep for me who am unworthy even of your notice!"