"You are not well, Mr. Livingstone," urged Clark, looking greatly disturbed. "Your servant, James, said you were not well this evening when I called. I wanted to go in to see you, but he would not permit me. He said that you had given positive orders that you would not see—"
"I was not well," assented Livingstone. "I was suffering from blindness. But I am better, Clark, better. I can see now—a little."
He controlled himself and spoke quietly. "I want you to lend me your little girl for—" He broke off suddenly. "How many children have you, Clark?" he asked, gently.
"Eight," said the old clerk. "But I haven't one I could spare, Mr. Livingstone."
"Only for a little while, Clark?" urged the other; "only for a little while.—Wait, and let me tell you what I want with her and why I want her, and you will—For a little while?" he pleaded.
He started and told his story and Clark sat and listened, at first with a set face, then with a wondering face, and then with a face deeply moved, as Livingstone, under his warming sympathy, opened his heart to him as a dying man might to his last confessor.
"—And now will you lend her to me, Clark, for just a little while to-night and to-morrow?" he pleaded in conclusion.
Clark rose to his feet. "I will see what I can do with her, Mr. Livingstone," he said, gravely. "She is not very friendly to you, I am sorry to say—I don't know why."
Livingstone thought he knew.
"Of course, you would not want me to compel her to go with you?"