"Now let me come there!" he exclaimed. "I'll let no one sign my name. I'll manage that. There? there! Direct an envelope. Oh Lord! I haven't a stamp—not one! and its ten minutes' walk to the post-office."
"I think—I believe I have a stamp," said Katherine, drawing her slender purse from her pocket and opening it.
"Have you?" eagerly. "Give it to me. Stick it on! Go! go! There is a pillar just outside the left-hand gate there; and mind you come back. I will give you a penny. Ah, yes, you shall have your penny?"
"I hope you will hear me when I return," she said, appealingly, as she left the room.
"Ay, ay; but go—go now."
When Katherine returned she found the old man, with the half-opened door in his hand, waiting for her.
"Were you in time?" he asked, eagerly.
"Oh yes, quite. I saw the postman coming across the road to empty the box as I was dropping the letter in."
"That's well. I will rest a bit now, and you can tell me what you please. First, what have you come here for?"
It was an appalling question, and nothing but the simple truth occurred to her as an answer. Indeed, some irresistible power seemed to compel the reply, spoken very low and distinct, "I came here to beg."