They clambered up three flights of stairs, and then Emma opened a door and ushered her companion into a small, barely furnished room. On a pallet on the floor was stretched a man of fifty, pale and emaciated, with eyes preternaturally bright; his face was turned towards the wall, and he did not see Gilbert.
“Is that you, Emma?” he asked.
“Yes, papa; how do you feel now?” asked the little girl.
“Much the same, my child; did you sell your flowers?”
“Yes, papa, and I have brought you a fresh roll. I have brought some one with me, too.”
Mr. Talbot turned his head, and looked at Gilbert, not without surprise.
“I hope you won’t look upon me as an intruder, sir,” said Gilbert; “your little girl told me you would not, or I would not have ventured to call.”
“I am glad to see you,” said the sick man, “though this is but a poor place to receive company in.”
“I understand your situation, sir,” said Gilbert; “you have been sick and unfortunate.”
“You are right; I was unfortunate first, and sick afterwards. Emma, will you give the young gentleman a chair?”