on his
mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate.

"Well, good night, Mr. Wood," said she, in the deep, hoarse accents of
consumption; "and may God Almighty bless and reward you for your
kindness! You were always the best of masters to my poor husband; and
now you've proved the best of friends to his widow and orphan boy."

"Poh! poh! say no more about it," rejoined the man hastily. "I've done
no more than my duty, Mrs. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire your
thanks. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my
comfort. And such slight relief as I can afford should have been offered
earlier, if I'd known where you'd taken refuge after your unfortunate
husband's--"

"Execution, you would say, Sir," added Mrs. Sheppard, with a deep sigh,
perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. "You
show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is
any need to show. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown
callous to both; but I'm _not_ used to compassion, and know not how to
take it. My heart would speak if it could, for it is very full. There
was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes
unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. Wood; but
they never come now. I have never wept since that day."

"And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul,"
replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from
his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. Pshaw!" added he, making an effort
to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way. I must stay a
minute longer, if only to see you smile."

So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by
the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips,
apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate.

The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable
look. Rotten, and covered with a thick coat of dirt, the boards of the
floor presented a very insecure footing; the bare walls were scored all
over with grotesque designs, the chief of which represented the
punishment of Nebuchadnezzar. The rest were hieroglyphic characters,
executed in red chalk and charcoal. The ceiling had, in many places,
given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained,
it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty
cobwebs. Over an old crazy bedstead was t