One or two sore, sorrowful tears forced their way out of the speaker's eyes; but she said no more. And Mr. Digby did not know what further to counsel, and was also silent. The silence lasted some little time, while a strawberry seller was making the street ring with her cries of "Straw….berr_ees_," and the hot air wafted in the odours from near and far, and the water trickled from the pump nose again. At last Mrs. Carpenter began again, with some difficulty and effort; not bodily however, but mental.
"You have been so exceedingly kind to me, to us, Mr. Digby, I—"
"Hush," he said. "Do not speak of that. You have done far more for me than I ever can do for you?"
"I? No. I have done nothing."
"You saved my father's life."
"Your father's life? You are under some mistake. I never knew a Mr. Digby till I knew you I never even heard the name."
"You knew a Mr. Southwode," said he smiling.
"Southwode? Southwode! The English gentleman! But you are not his son?"
"I am his son. I am Digby-Southwode. I took my mother's name for certain business reasons."
"And you are his son! How wonderful! That strange gentleman's son!—But I did not do so much for your father, Mr. Southwode. You have done everything for me."