“But I am a wretched beggar, crazed by the ingratitude with which my native country, England, has sent me helpless out into the world. I can never reward your kindness—I can give you nothing but my misery. Will you still be my friend?”
“Come with us to R——,” cried the pastor, “we are poor, too, but you shall not want loving care, and Theodora shall nurse you.”
“Ah, call the girl here,” said the stranger; and Theodora modestly approached.
The countenance of the old man grew more and more cheerful as he talked with the honest pastor and his lovely daughter. But suddenly he started up, grasped the pastor’s shoulder with trembling hands, and stammered—“I am ill—I must go home.” Then, refusing their offers of assistance, he promised to meet them on the same spot the next day, and was quickly lost in the crowd.
The pastor and his daughter returned to their lodgings, thinking and speaking of nothing but the strange old man.
“We sent him away,” cried the landlady, as she met them at the garden-gate, “he has been here twice; quite pale with terror, but it is good for him.”
“Who?” asked the father.
“Why the gambler, to be sure.” And poor Theodora shrunk into a dark corner of the room.
Her father inquired his name and direction of the landlady, and immediately inclosed the costly ring to him in a note which ran thus:
“Sir—Commissioned by my daughter, Theodora, and with her full countenance, I return to you this ring, of which we have as little need as the honor of your society.”