ded on him, a good-natured, patient
fellow, had been a sailor in his younger days, and had taught Mr.
Gracedieu how to use the needles. "You see it amuses him," the man said,
kindly. "Don't notice his mistakes, he thinks there isn't such another
in the world for knitting as himself. You can see, sir, how he sticks to
it." He was so absorbed over his employment that I had to speak to him
twice, before I could induce him to look at me. The utter ruin of his
intellect did not appear to have exercised any disastrous influence over
his bodily health. On the contrary, he had grown fatter since I had last
seen him; his complexion had lost the pallor that I remembered--there
was color in his cheeks.

"Don't you remember your old friend?" I said. He smiled, and nodded, and
repeated the words:

"Yes, yes, my old friend." It was only too plain that he had not the
least recollection of me. "His memory is gone," the man said. "When
he puts away his knitting, at night, I have to find it for him in the
morning. But, there! he's happy--enjoys his victuals, likes sitting out
in the garden and watching the birds. There's been a deal of trouble in
the family, sir; and it has all passed over him like a wet sponge over
a slate." The old sailor was right. If that wreck of a man had been
capable of feeling and thinking, his daughter's disgrace would have
broken his heart. In a world of sin and sorrow, is peaceable imbecility
always to be pitied? I have known men who would have answered, without
hesitation: "It is to be envied." And where (some persons might say) was
the poor Minister's reward for the act of mercy which had saved Eunice
in her infancy? Where it ought to be! A man who worthily performs a good
action finds his reward in the action itself.

At breakfast, on the next day, the talk touched on those passages in
Helena's diary, which had been produced in court as evidence against
her.

I expressed a wish to see what revelation of a depraved nature the
entries in the diary might present; and my curiosity was gratified. At
a fitter time, I may find an opportunity of alluding to the impression
produced on me by the diary. In the meanwhile, the event of Philip's
return claims notice in the first place.

The poor fellow was so glad to see me that he shook hands as heartily as
if we had known each other from the time when he was a boy.

"Do you remember how kindly you spoke to me when I called on you in
London?" he asked. "If I ha