s a regard for
you, and will respect me the more (if possible) for your praise. We must
have our rights, widow.'

'Rights! Do you know,' she said, 'that a word from me--'

'Why do you stop?' returned the blind man calmly, after a long pause.
'Do I know that a word from you would place my friend in the last
position of the dance of life? Yes, I do. What of that? It will never be
spoken, widow.'

'You are sure of that?'

'Quite--so sure, that I don't come here to discuss the question. I say
we must have our rights, or we must be bought off. Keep to that point,
or let me return to my young friend, for I have an interest in the lad,
and desire to put him in the way of making his fortune. Bah! you needn't
speak,' he added hastily; 'I know what you would say: you have hinted
at it once already. Have I no feeling for you, because I am blind? No, I
have not. Why do you expect me, being in darkness, to be better than
men who have their sight--why should you? Is the hand of Heaven more
manifest in my having no eyes, than in your having two? It's the cant
of you folks to be horrified if a blind man robs, or lies, or steals;
oh yes, it's far worse in him, who can barely live on the few halfpence
that are thrown to him in streets, than in you, who can see, and work,
and are not dependent on the mercies of the world. A curse on you! You
who have five senses may be wicked at your pleasure; we who have four,
and want the most important, are to live and be moral on our affliction.
The true charity and justice of rich to poor, all the world over!'

He paused a moment when he had said these words, and caught the sound of
money, jingling in her hand.

'Well?' he cried, quickly resuming his former manner. 'That should lead
to something. The point, widow?'

'First answer me one question,' she replied. 'You say he is close at
hand. Has he left London?'

'Being close at hand, widow, it would seem he has,' returned the blind
man.

'I mean, for good? You know that.'

'Yes, for good. The truth is, widow, that his making a longer stay there
might have had disagreeable consequences. He has come away for that
reason.'

'Listen,' said the widow, telling some money out, upon a bench beside
them. 'Count.'

'Six,' said the blind man, listening attentively. 'Any more?'

'They are the savings,' she answered, 'of five years. Six guineas.'

He put out his hand for one of the coins; felt it carefully, put it
between his teeth, rung it on t