The old man looked at him for some time in silence, and then said,
"I forgot any one was here; but you can be of no manner of use to me. I thank you."
"I am truly sorry for it; pray excuse my freedom," said the stranger with a slight flush; "but I am an American, and we are more accustomed to ask and communicate matters than is consistent with English reserve. I beg you will pardon me."
"You are an American?" asked the old man, looking at him. "You are quite a stranger here?"
"Quite so, sir," replied the stranger, with some little embarrassment. "I was once in this country before, but many years ago."
The old man still looked at him, was silent awhile, and then said, "You can not help me, sir; but I thank you all the same, and heartily. You seem really a very feeling man, and so I don't mind opening my mind to you—I am a ruined man, sir."
"I was sure you were in very deep trouble, sir," replied the stranger. "I will not seek to peer into your affairs; but I deeply feel for you, and would say that many troubles are not so deep as they seem. I would hope yours are not."
"Sir," replied the old man—the tears starting into his eyes, "I tell you I am a ruined man. I am heavily behind with my rent, all my stock will not suffice to pay it; and this morning we have been to entreat the steward to be lenient, but he will not hear us; he vows to sell us up next week."
"That is hard," said the stranger. "But you are hale, your son is young; you can begin the world anew."
"Begin the world anew!" exclaimed the old man, with a distracted air. "Where?—how? when? No, no! sir, there is no beginning anew in this country. Those days are past. That time is past with me. And as for my son: Oh, God! Oh, God! what shall become of him, for he has a wife and family, and knows nothing but about a farm."