Olivia's warm heart was full of pity for the lonely man sitting beside his desolate hearth, but she was young, and as the heavy gate closed after her, and she hurried across the road, a sudden vision of her own bright little parlour with Marcus waiting for her rose blissfully before her.
Marcus would have returned long ago and would be wondering at her delay. She knew what he was doing—cutting the pages of Esmond for their evening reading. How charmed he had been with her gift, although he had pretended to be angry at her extravagance.
A few particles of snow powdered her as she rang the bell. Marcus answered it himself.
"Livy, my dear child," he said, quickly, "what an age you have been! Come into the kitchen a moment, I want to speak to you, and Martha is upstairs. No, not there," catching hold of her arm as she absently turned the handle of the parlour door. "I said the kitchen."
"Oh, Marcus, what is it?" in an alarmed voice, as she suddenly perceived his grave, preoccupied look, "there is something wrong—with baby," but his smile reassured her.
"Nothing is wrong, I am only a little perplexed. Dot's all right, and the house is not on fire, and Martha is enjoying her usual health, but we have got a Christmas guest, that's all."
"Marcus, what can you mean, when we know no one here? Is it one of your old hospital friends? And why may I not go in and see him?"
"So you shall, but I must explain matters first. I have a poor fellow in there whom I picked up off a door-step. At first I thought he was drunk, and I meant to call a policeman, but I very soon found out my mistake. The poor wretch had fainted from cold and exhaustion, he was simply starving."
"Oh, how dreadful!" exclaimed Olivia, much shocked at this. "Have you given him some food? But why is he not here instead of in the sitting-room? Martha has a capital fire."
"Yes, she has been making him some tea, and luckily there was some cold bacon. He has had nothing but a penny roll and some coffee since yesterday morning. Another night of exposure and want would have killed him. I took him into the parlour because the couch was handy, but directly he spoke I saw he was a gentleman—at least an educated man, but his clothes are threadbare. He has parted with his waistcoat for food. Now you know why I brought you in here, to save you a shock."