"Nothing so pleasant," was the hurried answer. "The fact is, I've come upon a job that—well, I hardly know if I can tell it, now I've come."
The vicar began to feel interested.
"You had better take a seat," he said. "You will feel more comfortable."
The young man dropped into an easy-chair and stared at the fire. He was not a bad-looking young fellow. His face was pale, as though he worked underground, and his cheeks were thin enough to suggest too little nourishing food.
"The truth is, I only made up my mind an hour ago," he said abruptly.
"Yes?" the vicar said encouragingly.
"You have heard of that poor woman being carried off to the workhouse, I expect."
"You mean Mrs. Penlogan?"
"Ay! Well, that floored me. I felt that I could hold out no longer. I meant to have waited to see which way the trial went——"
"Yes?" the vicar said again, seeing he hesitated.