"And there are farms still," said the stranger.
"Yes; but at what rentals? and, then, where is the capital?"
The old man grew deadly pale, and groaned.
"In this country," said the stranger, after a deep silence, "I believe these things are hard, but in mine they are not so. Go there, worthy old man; go there, and a new life yet may open to you."
The stranger took the old man's hand tenderly; who, on feeling the stranger's grasp, suddenly, convulsively, caught the hand in both his own, and shedding plentiful tears, exclaimed, "God bless you, sir; God bless you for your kindness! Ah! such kindness is banished from this country, but I feel that it lives in yours—but there!—no, no!—there I shall never go. There are no means."
"The means required," said the stranger, tears, too, glittering in his eyes, "are very small. Your friends would, no doubt—"
"No, no!" interrupted him the old man, deeply agitated; "there are no friends—not here."
"Then why should I not be a friend so far?" said the stranger. "I have means—I know the country. I have somehow conceived a deep interest in your misfortunes."
"You!" said the old man, as if bewildered with astonishment; "you!—but come along with us, sir. Your words, your kindness, comfort me; at least you can counsel with us—and I feel it does me good."