“What, leave you?”

“Yes.”

“Shall you not miss me?”

“Yes, sir, but you must go.  The words you have spoken will stay with me while you are gone.”

“I shall stay.”

“No, sir, no!  I can’t bear it—­it isn’t fair!”

“What do you mean?”

“It isn’t fair that a gentleman like you should be kept shivering at an unfortunate man’s door like me.  I am not quite good for nothing, sir, and this will disgrace me in my own eyes.”

“I am on the best side of the door; don’t trouble your head about me.”

“I shouldn’t, sir, if you had not about me—­but kindness begets kindness.  Go to your comfortable bed.”

Mr. Eden hesitated.

“You will make me more unhappy than I am, if you stay here in the cold.”

Now, at the beginning of this argument Mr. Eden was determined not to go; but on reflection he made up his mind to, for this reason:  “This,” said he to himself, “is an act of uncommon virtue and self-denial in this poor fellow.  I must not balk it, for it will be good for his soul; it is a step on the right road.  This good and, I might say, noble act is a foundation-stone on which I ought to try and build an honest man and a Christian.”

“Well, then, as you are so considerate I will go.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I do nothing for you before I go?”

“No, sir; you have done all a man can; yes, you can do something—­you spoke a word to me when you came; it is a word I am not worthy of, but still if you could leave me that word it would be a companion for me.”

“Brother!”

“Thank you.”

When he heard Mr. Eden’s steps grow fainter and fainter, and at last inaudible, Robinson groaned; the darkness turned blacker and the solitude more desolate than ever.

Mr. Eden paced the corridors in meditation.  “It is never too late to mend!” he said.  “This man seemed an unredeemable brute, yet his heart was to be touched by persevering kindness; and once touched, how much of goodness left in his fallen nature—­genuine gratitude, and even the embers of self-respect.  ’I hate myself for my conduct in the cell; it would disgrace me in my own eyes if I let you shiver at my door.’  Poor fellow, my heart yearns toward him for that.  ’Go, or you will make me more unhappy.’  Why, that was real delicacy.  I must not let him suffer for it.  In an hour I will go back to him.  If he is asleep, well and good; if not, there I stay till morning.”

He went to his room and worked.  The hour soon glided by to him; not so to the poor prisoner.  At two in the morning Mr. Eden came softly back to the dark cell to see whether Robinson was asleep.  He scratched the door with a key.  A loud, unsteady voice cried out, “What is that?”

“It is I, brother.”

“Why are you not in your bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep for anxiety.  Come, chat with me till you feel sleepy.  How did you color those cards?”