“Fearful about you.”

“What! did you give up your sleep only to see after me?”

“Are you not glad I came?”

“Is a shipwrecked sailor glad when a rope is flung him?  I hold on to life and reason by you!”

“Is not this better than sleeping?—­Did you speak?”

“No!  I am thinking!  I am trying to make you out.  Were you ever a p——­ (hum)?”

“Was I ever what? the door is so thick!”

“Oh! nothing, sir; you seem to know what a poor fellow suffers in the dark cell.”

“I have been in it!”

“Whee-ugh-whee!—­what a shame! what did they put you in for?”

“They didn’t put me in.  I went in.”

“The devil you did!” muttered the immured.

“What?  Speak out.”

“Nothing, your reverence,” bawled Robinson.  “Why did you go into such a cur—­into such a hole?”

“It was my duty to know what a fellow-creature suffers there, lest, through inexperience, I might be cruel.  Ignorance is the mother of cruelty!”

“I hear you, sir.

“And cruelty is a fearful crime in His eyes, whose servant I am.”

“I am thinking, sir; I am putting two or three things together—­I see—­”

“Speak more slowly and articulately.”

“I will; I see what you are now—­you are a Christian.”

“I hope so!”

“I might have guessed as much, and I did suspect it; but I couldn’t know, I had nothing to go by.  I never fell in with a Christian before.”

“Where did you go to look for them?” asked Mr. Eden, his mouth twitching.

“I have been in many countries, and my eyes open; and I’ve heard and read of Christians, and I’ve met hypocrites; but never met a living Christian till to-night.”  Then, after a pause, “Sir, I want to apologize to you!”

“What for!”

“For my ignorant and ungrateful conduct to you in my cell.”

“Let bygones be bygones!”

“Could you forgive me, sir?”

“You punished yourself, not me; I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

Robinson was silent.

After a pause Mr. Eden tapped.

“What are you doing?”

“I am thinking over your goodness to me.”

“Are you better now?”

“That I am.  The place was a tomb; since you came it is only a closet.  I can’t see your face—­I feel it, though; and your voice is music to me.  Have you nothing to say to me, sir?”

“I have many things to say to you; but this is not the time.  I want you to sleep.”

“Why, sir?”

“Sleep is the balm of mind and body—­you need sleep.”

“And you, sir?”

“I shall sit here.”

“You will take your death of cold.”

“No, I have my greatcoat.”

There was a long pause.

Robinson tapped.  “Sir, grant me a favor.”

“What is it?”

“Go home to your bed.”