‘I wouldn’t be so wanting to my own self in proper pride, Wincher,’ said his wife, who was not disposed to forgive Lucius at a moment’s warning. Had she not liked and praised him and smiled benignantly on his wooing, and had he not turned upon her like the scorpion? ‘We had the conscientiousness of our own innocence to support us, and with that I could have gone to Newgate without blinching. It’s all very well to come here, Dr. Davory, and demean yourself by astin’ our pardings; but you can’t make up to us for the suffering we’ve gone through along of your unjust suspicions,’ added Mrs. Wincher, somewhat inconsistently. Lucius expressed his regret with supreme humility. ‘If ever I am a rich man,’ he said, ‘I will try to atone for my mistake in some more substantial manner. In the mean time you must accept this trifle as a proof of my sincerity.’ He pressed a five-pound note upon Mr. Wincher—a poor solatium for the wrong done, but a large sum for the parish doctor to give away, on the eve of an undertaking which was likely to be expensive. ‘No, sir—not a farthing,’ said Mr. Wincher resolutely. ‘You offered me money before, and it was kindly done, for you thought me a scoundrel, and you didn’t want even a scoundrel to starve. I appreciate the kindness of your offer to-night, but I won’t take a farthing. We shall rub on somehow, I make no doubt, though the world does seem a little overcrowded. You’ve acknowledged the wrong you did me, Mr. Davoren, and that’s more than enough.’ Lucius pressed the money upon him, but in vain. ‘Do you find life so prosperous, and work so plentiful, that you refuse a friendly offer?’ he asked at last. ‘Well, not exactly, sir,’ replied Mr. Wincher with a sigh. ‘I do get an odd job now and then, it’s true, but the now and then are very far apart.’ ‘And you find it hard to pay the rent of this room and live without trenching on your little fund?’ ‘Sir, our savings are melting day by day; but we are old; and, after all, better people than we are have had to end their days in a workhouse. There’s no reproach in such an end if one has worked one’s hardest all the days of one’s life.’ ‘You shall not be reduced to the workhouse if I can help it, Mr. Wincher,’ said Lucius heartily. ‘If you are too proud to take money from me—’ ‘No, sir, not too proud; it isn’t pride, but principle.’ ‘If you won’t take my money, Mr. Wincher, I must try to find you a home. Come and live with me. My housekeeper has given me a good deal of trouble lately; in fact, I’m afraid she’s not so temperate in her habits as she ought to be, and I sha’n’t be sorry to get rid of her. I am not in a position to offer you very liberal wages—’ ‘Bless your heart, sir, we’ve not been accustomed to wages of late years. “Stay with me if you like,” said Mr. Sivewright, “but I’m too poor to pay wages. I’ll give you a roof to cover you, and a trifle for your board.” And we contrived to live upon the trifle, sir, by cutting it rather fine.’