e man no nearer than the clangour of negro kettles affects
the eclipse of the sun. Falconer stood watching his opportunity. Nor
was the eager disputant long in affording him one. Socratic fashion,
Falconer asked him a question, and was answered; followed it with
another, which, after a little hesitation, was likewise answered;
then asked a third, the ready answer to which involved such a flagrant
contradiction of the first, that the poor sorrowful weaver burst into
a laugh of delight at the discomfiture of his tormentor. After some
stammering, and a confused attempt to recover the line of argument, the
would-be partizan of Deity roared out, 'The fool hath said in his heart
there is no God;' and with this triumphant discharge of his swivel,
turned and ran down the stairs precipitately.

Both laughed while the sound of his footsteps lasted. Then Falconer
said,

'My. De Fleuri, I believe in God with all my heart, and soul, and
strength, and mind; though not in that poor creature's arguments. I
don't know that your unbelief is not better than his faith.'

'I am greatly obliged to you, Mr. Falconer. I haven't laughed so for
years. What right has he to come pestering me?'

'None whatever. But you must forgive him, because he is well-meaning,
and because his conceit has made a fool of him. They're not all like
him. But how is your daughter?'

'Very poorly, sir. She's going after the rest. A Spitalfields weaver
ought to be like the cats: they don't mind how many of their kittens are
drowned.'

'I beg your pardon. They don't like it. Only they forget it sooner than
we do.'

'Why do you say we, sir? You don't know anything of that sort.'

'The heart knows its own bitterness, De Fleuri--and finds it enough, I
dare say.'

The weaver was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, there was a
touch of tenderness in his respect.

'Will you go and see my poor Katey, sir?'

'Would she like to see me?'

'It does her good to see you. I never let that fellow go near her. He
may worry me as he pleases; but she shall die in peace. That is all I
can do for her.'

'Do you still persist in refusing help--for your daughter--I don't mean
for yourself?'

Not believing in God, De Fleuri would not be obliged to his fellow.
Falconer had never met with a similar instance.

'I do. I won't kill her, and I won't kill myself: I am not bound to
accept charity. It's all right. I only want to leave the whole affair
behind; and I sincerely