“Richard!” she whispered.
But as Hodder glanced from the derelict beside him a wave of comprehension passed through him that swept him clean of indignation, of resentment. And this man had been prosperous and happy!
“There is but one way to save the boy's life, Mr. Garvin,” he said, “and that is to put him in charge of Dr. Jarvis.”
The man made no reply, but went over to the window, staring out into the yard. There was something vaguely ominous in his attitude. The rector watched him a moment, and then turned to the mother.
“You must not lose hope,” he told her.
She looked at him with terror-stricken eyes that sought to be grateful. He had picked up his hat from a corner of the littered table, and started to leave, when Garvin, by a sudden movement, planted himself in the doorway. Whether he had been drinking, or whether he were merely crazed by misfortune and the hopeless search in the heat for employment, and by lack of proper nourishment, Hodder could not say. There was a light in his eyes like that in a wounded animal's; and although he was thin and slight, he had the concentrated power of desperation.
“Say, what church do you come from?” he demanded.
“From St. John's,” said the rector.
“Eldon Parr's church?”
Hodder started, in spite of himself, at the name.