"Well," said he to her, "what is it? I am very busy."
"I am afraid my son is dying," she said timidly, abashed by the splendor of his dress and abrupt manner. "I thought some minister ought to see him."
"Where do you attend church?" he asked, looking down at her tattered attire.
"I do not go to any," she faltered.
"I have as much as I can attend to in my own parish," he frowned; "besides my bishop is here as my guest; there is a young theological student with me who will go." And he went back to the dining-room and sent a young man out to her.
"Show me the way," said the student, and he shrugged his shoulders, and blushed because the footman seemed to comprehend the situation.
Without a word she led him through the squalid streets to the house, and up the narrow stairs to her miserable room. The sick man lay alone on a hard couch.
"What can I do for you?" asked the visitor.
A look of hope came into the pallid features of the one addressed. His voice was low and eager when he replied:—