"If you could see me, speak to me, help me in any way! Believe me, I do not wish to force my personality on you. I do not want you to give me any material thing. I only beg of you to aid me in asserting my claim on life by telling how I may win bread.
"I should be deeply grateful for a word from you. In any case, pardon this intrusion. Yours, etc., Morgan Druce."
Ingram drew a long breath and threw the sheets on to the table.
"Have I read it nicely?" he asked.
"And I wrote that—to you, Robert Ingram!" exclaimed Morgan, brokenly.
"You did," said Ingram, quietly. "And you know what the sequel was."
"You were moved by my appeal. You came to seek me out."
"Well, your letter interested me. It was not the letter of a duffer or a swindler—the sort of thing you can tell by its ornate pompousness; and it just caught me when I was somewhat bored by things, so that I rather welcomed it as an excitement. I expected to find you lodging in some miserable cottage—a Chatterton in a garret. I came to bring food to the hungry. Instead——"
"You found me living in a palace standing in a fine park, with no lack of loaves and fishes, of milk and honey."