The sounds of entreaty continued, grew louder, and more deeply imploring. "They will scream themselves hoarse presently," I thought. "Well, I am comfortable enough." "Well said, Gabriel, well said!" Who spoke? Nothing human, for I was the only person awake in house and cottage. Although I was convinced of this I looked around, not in fear but curiosity. Nothing living was in view. "Is it well?" I asked aloud. "The sounds proceed most likely from poor persons who are benighted, and who have not a roof to cover them." "That is their affair," said the voice. "The storm is terrible," I continued. "They may perish in it." The answer came. "They meet their fate. Leave them to their doom. In the morning their sufferings will be over." "And I shall live," I said, "guilty and self-condemned. There is no such thing as fate. Human will can save or destroy. They are human, and I will go to them." The rain and the wind almost blinded me as I walked from my cottage to the gates. All the while the voices continued to beseech despairingly and bitterly, calling upon man, calling upon God. I heard one say, "Hush! There's somebody coming." The next moment I opened the gates. "Ah, master," cried a woman, "for the love of God tell us the way to Purvis's huts! Jump down, Jim; you've pretty nigh broke my blade-bone in." A tall man jumped from the woman's shoulders to the ground. It was from that elevated position he had seen the light in my room. "I don't know Purvis or his huts," I said. "What are you?" "Hoppers, master. We're bound for Purvis's gardens, and we thought we should get to the sleeping huts before night set in; but we missed our way, and have been tramping through the rain for I don't know how many hours. I'm soaked through and through, and am ready to drop." "Why did you not stop at an inn?" I asked. "None of that!" growled the man, in a threatening tone. "Be quiet, Jim!" said the woman. "Why didn't we stop at an inn, master? Because in them places they don't give you nothing for nothing, and that's about as much as we've got to offer. We're dead broke, master." "We're never nothing else," growled the man. "Can you help us, master?" asked the woman. "Ask him if he will," growled the man, "don't ask him if he can." "Leave it to me, Jim. You're always a-putting your foot into it. Will you, master, will you?" "Who is that crying?" "One of the children, master." "One of them! How many have you?" "Five, master." "Curse 'em!" growled the man. "Shut up, Jim! The gentleman'll help us for the sake of the young 'uns, won't you, sir? They're sopping wet, master, and a-dying of hunger." "If I allow you to occupy my room," I said, "and give you food and a fire, will you go away quietly when the sun rises?" "There, Jim; didn't I tell you? We're in luck. Go away quiet when the sun rises, master? Yes, master, yes. Hope I may never see daylight again if we don't!" "Come in," I said. "Follow me, and make as little noise as possible."