In about five minutes after I went back again with some coals and wood, in one of Mrs. Goldsworthy’s old coal scuttles. I thought I saw how to manage him--never to ask permission or make apologies, but simply to do what was needful. He had emptied the basin, I saw at a glance, and had a piece of bread in his hand, which he put down when I came in. He said nothing, but stared at me as I lighted the fire. When my back was turned to him I fancied he made another stealthy application to the bread. He would hide the full amount of his misery if it were possible; but it was only a partial victory he could obtain over himself. “Who, who are you?” he said at last. “You--you are a lady, eh? It is not your business to make up fires?” “Yes,” said I, as cheerfully as I could; “but we are poor; and when one has not much money one has many things to do.” At this the poor gentleman gave a great groan. Then, after a little, gasped, in broken words, “Thank God! creatures like you don’t know the truths they say.” I understood him at once. “No,” said I, “it is quite true; but God knows all about it, that is a comfort always. Don’t you think if I put the pillows behind you, you would be more comfortable? Try this. I am quite sure it is better so.” “Ah! but how do you know I can’t have pillows as I please, and whatever I want of my own?” cried the jealous, delirious pride, waking up again in his big hollow eyes. “I don’t know anything about it,” said I; “but you have nobody with you just now. If you will not send for any friends, you can’t help having neighbours all the same.” He said, “Ah!” again, and relapsed into his silent stare. But for the frenzy of desperate want and desperate pride, which only flickered up by moments, he was too far benumbed with want and suffering to do anything in the way of resistance. After I had settled him a little comfortable I went downstairs again, and as soon as baby’s second bowl of beef-tea, which had been hastily made to take the place of the first, was ready, I stole that also, and went up with it again. Baby, who was as fat as possible, could quite well do without it; and I remember having read that people, who had been in great want, should get food very often but not much at a time. The poor gentleman was lying with his head on the pillow and his eyes half shut, the light of the fire glimmering over him, and a kind of quiet in his attitude. When he opened his eyes they grew wolfish again for a moment; but he was subdued--the first frenzy was gone. Somehow he did not seem alone any longer, with that dear good charitable fire blazing and crackling, and making all the noise it could, as if to show what company it could be. And this time he actually drew the basin towards him, and ate its contents before me. I went to the little window and cried a little privately. Oh, it was pitiful! pitiful! That morning I am sure he had laid himself down upon these chairs, mad with want, bitterness, and solitude, to die.