hn. Then taking his consent for granted, he
hurried De Fleuri away with him, and knowing how unfit a man of his
trade was for walking, irrespective of feebleness from want, he called
the first cab, and took him home. Here, over their tea, which he judged
the safest meal for a stomach unaccustomed to food, he told him about
his grandmother, and about Dr. Anderson, and how he came to give himself
to the work he was at, partly for its own sake, partly in the hope of
finding his father. He told him his only clue to finding him; and that
he had called on Mrs. Macallister twice every week for two years, but
had heard nothing of him. De Fleuri listened with what rose to great
interest before the story was finished. And one of its ends at least was
gained: the weaver was at home with him. The poor fellow felt that such
close relation to an outcast, did indeed bring Falconer nearer to his
own level.

'Do you want it kept a secret, sir?' he asked.

'I don't want it made a matter of gossip. But I do not mind how many
respectable people like yourself know of it.'

He said this with a vague hope of assistance.

Before they parted, the unaccustomed tears had visited the eyes of
De Fleuri, and he had consented not only to repair Mrs. Chisholm's
garret-floor, but to take in hand the expenditure of a certain sum
weekly, as he should judge expedient, for the people who lived in that
and the neighbouring houses--in no case, however, except of sickness,
or actual want of bread from want of work. Thus did Falconer appoint a
sorrow-made infidel to be the almoner of his christian charity, knowing
well that the nature of the Son of Man was in him, and that to get him
to do as the Son of Man did, in ever so small a degree, was the readiest
means of bringing his higher nature to the birth. Nor did he ever repent
the choice he had made.

When he waited upon Miss St. John the next day, he found her in the
ordinary dress of a lady. She received him with perfect confidence and
kindness, but there was no reference made to the past. She told him that
she had belonged to a sisterhood, but had left it a few days before,
believing she could do better without its restrictions.

'It was an act of cowardice,' she said,--'wearing the dress yesterday.
I had got used to it, and did not feel safe without it; but I shall not
wear it any more.'

'I think you are right,' said Falconer. 'The nearer any friendly act is
associated with the individual heart, w