“Why, from an early hour, long, I suspect, before my coming, there have been arriving here from every side, and entering into that house, by the back door in the narrow street, the rarest collection of miserable objects that you ever saw; the blind, the lame, the maimed, the decrepit, the deformed of every possible shape; while by the front door several persons have entered, evidently of a different class.”
“Whose dwelling is it, do you know? It looks a large old house, but rather out of condition.”
“It belongs to a very rich, and, it is said, very miserly old patrician. But look! there come some more.”
At that moment a very feeble man, bent down by age, was approaching, supported by a young and cheerful girl, who chatted most kindly to him as she supported him.
“We are just there,” she said to him; “a few more steps, and you shall sit down and rest.”
“Thank you, my child,” replied the poor old man, “how kind of you to come for me so early!”
“I knew,” she said, “you would want help; and as I am the most useless person about, I thought I would go and fetch you.”
“I have always heard that blind people are selfish, and it seems but natural; but you, Cæcilia, are certainly an exception.”
“Not at all; this is only my way of showing selfishness.”
“How do you mean?”