Redmore wandered from one farm to another, seeking for employment, only to meet with refusal everywhere. In a day or two he would be cast forth from his cottage with wife and family. Whither to go he knew not. He had exhausted what little money he had saved, and had nowhere found work. Kate felt pity for the man. He had transgressed, and his transgression had fallen heavy upon him. He was not an intemperate man; he did not frequent the public-house. Others who drank, and drank hard, remained with their masters, who overlooked their weakness. In the forefront of Roger’s offence stood his insolence; and Pooke, the richest yeoman in the place, was proud, and would not forgive a wound to his pride. As Kate held the string, she felt that the wretched man was shivering. He shook in his boat, and chattered its side against her boat. “Are you very cold?” asked the girl. “I’m hungry,” he answered sullenly. “You are trembling.” “I’ve had nor bite nor crumb for forty-eight hours. That’s enough to make a man shake.” “Nothing to eat? Did you not ask for something?” “I went to the Rectory. Passon Fielding gave me a loaf, but I took it home--wife and little ones were more starving than I, and I cut it up between ’em.” “I think--I almost think I have a piece of bread with me,” said Kate. She had, in fact, taken some in her pocket the night before, when she crossed, and had forgotten to eat it, or had no appetite for it. Now she produced the slice. “I cannot take it,” said the bound man. “My hands be tied fast behind me. You must please put it into my mouth; and the Lord bless you for it.” Holding the cord with her right, Kate extended the bread with the other hand to the man, whose face was averted, and thrust it between his lips. “You must hold your hand to my mouth while I eat,” said he. “I wouldn’t miss a crumb, and it will fall if you take your hand from me.” Consequently, with her hand full of bread much broken, she fed the unfortunate man, and he ate it out of her palm. He ate greedily till he had consumed the last particle. It moved Kate to the heart to feel the hungry wretch’s lips picking the crumbs out of her palm. “Oh, Roger!” she said in a tone full of compassion and sorrow, rather than reproach, “why--why did you do it?” “Do what, Kitty?” “Oh, burn the stack!” “I’ll tell you why. I couldn’t help it. Did you know my Joan? Her was the purtiest little maid in all Coombe. Her’s dead now.” “Dead, Roger!” “Ay, I reckon; died to-night in her mother’s lap; died o’ want, and cold, and nakedness. Us had no bread till Pass’n gave me that loaf--and no coals, and no blankets, and naught but rags. The little maid has been sick these three weeks. Us can’t have no doctor. I’ve been out o’ work three months, and now the parish must bury her. Joan, she wor my very darling, nigh my heart.” He was silent. The boat he was in chattered more vigorously against that of Kate.