I couldn’t look away from them—­the face was white as clay. 
Those eyes, they make me shudder when I think of them to-day. 
I knew right off ’twas Anderson.  I couldn’t move nor speak;
I thought I’d slip down on the floor, I felt so light and weak.

“O Lord,” I thought, “what shall I do?” Some words begun to come,
Like some one whispered to me:  I set there, still and dumb: 
“I was a stranger—­took me in—­in prison—­visited me;”
And I says, “O Lord, I couldn’t; it’s a murderer, you see!”

And those eyes they watched me all the time, in dreadful still
despair—­
Most like the room looked warm and safe; he watched me setting
there;
And what ’twas made me do it, I don’t know to this day,
But I opened the door and let him in—­a murderer at bay.

He laid him right down on the floor, close up beside the fire. 
I never saw such a wretched sight:  he was covered thick with mire;
His clothes were torn to his very skin, and his hands were bleeding
fast. 
I gave him something to tie ’em up, and all my fears were past.

I filled the fire place up with wood to get the creature warm,
And I fetched him a bowl o’ milk to drink—­I couldn’t do him harm;
And pretty soon he says, real low, “Do you know who I be?”
And I says, “You lay there by the fire; I know you won’t hurt me.”

I had been fierce as any one before I saw him there,
But I pitied him—­a ruined man whose life had started fair. 
I somehow or ’nother never felt that I was doing wrong,
And I watched him laying there asleep almost the whole night long.

  I thought once that I heard the men, and I was half afraid
  That they might come and find him there; and so I went and staid
  Close to the window, watching, and listening for a cry;
  And he slept there like a little child—­forgot his misery.

  I almost hoped John wouldn’t come till he could get away;
  And I went to the door and harked awhile, and saw the dawn of day. 
  ’Twas bad for him to have slept so long, but I couldn’t make him go
  From the City of Refuge he had found; and he was glad, I know.

  It was years and years ago, but still I never can forget
  How grey it looked that morning; the air was cold and wet;
  Only the wind would howl sometimes, or else the trees would creak—­
  All night I’d ’a given anything to hear somebody speak.

He heard me shut the door again, and started up so wild
And haggard that I ’most broke down.  I wasn’t reconciled
To have the poor thing run all day, chased like a wolf or bear;
But I knew he’d brought it on himself; his punishment was fair.

I gave him something more to eat; he couldn’t touch it then,
“God pity you, poor soul!” says I. May I not see again
A face like his, as he stood in the door and looked which way
to go! 
I watched him making towards the swamps, dead-lame and moving slow.