“Yes; but I’m ready to hear your story now.”
She did not deem it at all necessary to enter into the particulars of her relationship with Earle for his benefit.
“Well, as you say, it can do no harm to confess it now, and Tom Drake can’t hurt me, either—nobody will dare touch a dying man, though he did swear he’d kill me if I ever lisped a word of it. I know he meant what he said; and, miss, though I’ve been driven to stealing for a living, yet I’ve always loved my wife and child.”
He paused abruptly and glanced at those two faithful ones—the only ones in all the world who cared that he was dying, and who would miss him when he was dead.
“It’s been torture to me lately,” he went on, with emotion, “to see them going cold and hungry, taking the bread from their own mouths to keep life a little longer in my worthless body; but, miss, folks that are down in the world and driven into a corner can love just as strong as those who never knew a want.”
“Indeed, I do not doubt it,” Editha said, feeling a deep pity for him, notwithstanding he had so deeply injured one whom she so fondly loved.
“I know it is but adding insult to injury; but, miss, if you—if I could only be assured they need not want for bread when I am gone, it would be a great comfort,” he added, with a wistfulness that brought the tears to her eyes.
“They shall not—I promise you that I will see that they do not suffer,” she said, heartily.
“I do not deserve it from you, Miss Dalton, after using him so,” she said.
He seemed to have an intuitive idea of how matters stood between her and Earle, and her kindness moved him deeply; and Editha just then heard a smothered sob from the woman kneeling beside the bed.