delity that never ran dry or
waned through all his years of famine.

She soothed him; asked him for his forgiveness if she had been, or
seemed to have been, undutiful; told him, Heaven knows truly, that she
could not honour him more if he were the favourite of Fortune and the
whole world acknowledged him. When his tears were dried, and he sobbed
in his weakness no longer, and was free from that touch of shame, and
had recovered his usual bearing, she prepared the remains of his supper
afresh, and, sitting by his side, rejoiced to see him eat and drink. For
now he sat in his black velvet cap and old grey gown, magnanimous again;
and would have comported himself towards any Collegian who might have
looked in to ask his advice, like a great moral Lord Chesterfield, or
Master of the ethical ceremonies of the Marshalsea.

To keep his attention engaged, she talked with him about his wardrobe;
when he was pleased to say, that Yes, indeed, those shirts she proposed
would be exceedingly acceptable, for those he had were worn out, and,
being ready-made, had never fitted him. Being conversational, and in a
reasonable flow of spirits, he then invited her attention to his coat
as it hung behind the door: remarking that the Father of the place
would set an indifferent example to his children, already disposed to be
slovenly, if he went among them out at elbows. He was jocular, too,
as to the heeling of his shoes; but became grave on the subject of his
cravat, and promised her that, when she could afford it, she should buy
him a new one.

While he smoked out his cigar in peace, she made his bed, and put the
small room in order for his repose. Being weary then, owing to the
advanced hour and his emotions, he came out of his chair to bless her
and wish her Good night. All this time he had never once thought of HER
dress, her shoes, her need of anything. No other person upon earth, save
herself, could have been so unmindful of her wants.

He kissed her many times with 'Bless you, my love. Good night, MY dear!'

But her gentle breast had been so deeply wounded by what she had seen of
him that she was unwilling to leave him alone, lest he should lament
and despair again. 'Father, dear, I am not tired; let me come back
presently, when you are in bed, and sit by you.'

He asked her, with an air of protection, if she felt solitary?

'Yes, father.'

'Then come back by all means, my love.'

'I shall be very quiet, father.'

'Don