Mr. Heighington inquired the name of the person to whom she referred as being a friend of Mr. Marshall's. But he was too much occupied with his own thoughts to remember Matthew Reardon.
"You can tell Mr. Reardon," said he, "that his friend has met with an accident, and is not expected to live; but that I will endeavour to call round and see him myself the first opportunity."
"No," replied Kate, shaking her head, "I can't tell. I have never spoken to him in my life. He doesn't even know that I have come. But you won't be long, sir, for he's about as bad as he can be."
"Not longer than I can help," answered Mr. Heighington, as he took down the address on the back of poor Marshall's card. "Is there nothing else I can do for you?"
"Nothing, sir, thank you," replied the girl—"only I should like to have seen him, if I might. I should like to have told him it was all true he said to me that night about the love of Christ to poor sinners, even the chief—and about His not casting them away. If I could only have told him, and thanked him—and I think that he would be glad too."
"It would be of no use seeing him," answered Mr. Heighington, sadly. "He would not know you. He does not know any one. But he will know all in that day when 'they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever.'"
It was raining fast when Mr. Heighington opened the street door to let her out.
"What will you do?" asked he, with a compassionate glance at her thin faded garments. "You will be wet through."
"I don't mind, sir. I'm used to it."
"Can you not ride—a part of the way, at least?"