"So much so," said he, "so very much so, that before I accept more of your hospitality, it is as well you should know whom you would honour—" here I paused and stared down at the ham and eggs. "Sir, I am a thief!" Here I let fall the knife. "Three nights since, sir," he continued in the same passionless voice, "I broke into a farmhouse and stole a loaf and a piece of cheese. I should have stolen more but that I was interrupted and pursued. I lost the cheese clambering over a wall, the last of the loaf I finished yesterday morning, since when I have subsisted on air and an occasional mangel-wurzel—"
"Then surely it is time you ate something more substantial—this ham seems excellent and—"
"God love you, Sir Oswald—you're a trump!" he exclaimed and sitting down, fell to upon the food I had set before him.
"It is good ham!" said I.
"Sublime!" he answered, and seeing with what fervour he addressed himself to the viands, I troubled him with no further speech until, his plate empty, he leaned back in his chair and vented a sigh of blissful and utter content.
"For that—" he began haltingly, his voice a little hoarse, "for—your hospitality—accept the thanks of a starving wretch!"
"And my name is not Oswald!" said I.
"Of course not, but it answered very well with the fellows outside—nothing like a high-sounding name or title to awe your British rustic. And now," said he, with an expression half-whimsical, half-rueful, as he picked up his woebegone hat, "having by your courtesy eaten and drunk my fill, I will do my best to repay you by ridding you of my company."
"I was christened Peregrine," said I, reaching over to refill his tankard. Now at this he stood mute a space, and very still, only he fumbled nervously with his hat and I heard his breath catch oddly, wherefore I kept my gaze bent upon the jug in my hand.
"Sir," said he at last, speaking as with an effort, "when I stole the bread and cheese, I would have stolen—anything that had chanced in my reach—money—jewels—anything. I was mad and desperate with hunger. And yet many a poor rogue in the same circumstances did no more and their bodies dangle in chains on the highway. I have even contemplated turning footpad—"