In the chill, calm atmosphere of the place there was repose for her. She found nothing to resent, nothing to steel herself against, she need no longer think of herself at all. She had time to think of the man in whose presence she sat. From the first she had seen something touching in his slight stooping figure, thin young face and dark womanish eyes, and after she had heard the simple uneventful history of his life, she found them more touching still.
He was a New Englander, the last surviving representative of a frail and short-lived family. His parents had died young, leaving him quite alone, with a mere pittance to depend upon, and throughout his whole life he had cherished but one aim.
“When I was a child I used to dream of coming here,” he said, “and as I grew older I worked and struggled for it. I knew I must gain my end some day, and the time came when it was gained.”
“And this is the end?” she asked, glancing round at the poor place. “This is all of life you desire?”
He did not look up at her.
“It is all I have,” he answered.
She wondered if he would not ask her some questions regarding herself, but he did not.
“He does not care to know,” she thought sullenly. And then she told herself that he did know, and a mocking devil of a smile settled on her lip and was there when he turned toward her again.
But the time never came when his manner altered, when he was less candid and gentle, or less grateful for the favor she was bestowing upon him.