“I am poor, if that is what you mean,” said Thord,--“but take all I have to-night, Matsin--” and he emptied a small purse of silver coins into the man’s hand. “Bury the poor little innocent one;--and comfort the mother when she wakes. Comfort her!--love her!--she needs love! I will be back again to-morrow.” He strode away quickly, and Matsin remained at his door turning over the money in his hand. “He will sacrifice something he needs himself, for this,” he muttered. “Yet that is the man they say the King would hang if ever he got hold of him! By Heaven!--the King himself should hang first!” Meanwhile Sergius Thord went on, slackening his pace a little as he came near his own destination, a tall and narrow house at the end of the street, with a single light shining in one of the upper windows. There was a gas-lamp some few paces off, and under this stood a man reading, or trying to read, a newspaper by its flickering glare. Thord glanced at him with some suspicion--the stranger was too near his own lodging for his pleasure, for he was always on his guard against spies. Approaching more closely, he saw that though the man was shabbily attired in a rough pilot suit, much the worse for wear, he nevertheless had the indefinable look and bearing of a gentleman. Acting on impulse, as he often did, Thord spoke to him. “A rough night for reading by lamplight, my friend!” he said. The man looked up, and smiled. “Yes, it is, rather! But I have only just got the evening paper.” “Any special news?” “No--only this--” and he pointed to a bold headline--“The King _versus_ The Jesuits.” “Ah!” said Thord, and he studied the looks and bearing of the stranger with increasing curiosity. “What do you think of it?” “What do I think? May I ask, without offence, what _you_ think?” “I think,” said Thord slowly, “that the King has for once in his life done a wise thing.” “‘For once in his life!’” repeated the stranger dubiously--“Then I presume your King is, generally speaking, a fool?” “If you are a subject of his--” began Thord slowly---- “Thank Heaven, I am not! I am a mere wanderer--a literary loafer--a student of men and manners. I read books, and I write them too,--this will perhaps explain the eccentricity of my behaviour in trying to read under the lamplight in the rain!” He smiled again, and the smile was irresistibly pleasant. Something about him attracted Thord, and after a pause he asked: “If you are, as you say, a wanderer and a stranger in this town, can I be of service to you?”