"My good friends," said he, "I was in the station-house last night when you arrived; and your sad tales touched me to the quick. Now, with regard to you, my poor lad," he continued, addressing himself to the _rogue and vagabond_, "what prospect have you before you? In what way could a friend aid you?" "My brother, sir, is well off, and would assist me," replied the poor creature, "if I could but get to him. He lives in Edinburgh, and is well to do as a wheelwright." "Here are two guineas for you, my friend," said Richard. "They will take you home; and then may your reception be as favourable as you seem to think. There--I do not want you to thank me: go--and commence your journey at once." The poor fellow pressed Markham's hand with the most enthusiastic gratitude, and took his departure with tears in his eyes and gladness in his heart. "And now, my good man," said Richard to the owner of the apple-cart, "what do you propose to do?" "To speak the truth, sir, I don't know. The police seem determined that I shan't earn an honest livelihood: and as I am equally resolved not to see my children starve before me, I have nothing left to do but to become a thief. I shan't be the first whom the police have driven to that last resource in this city." "You speak bitterly," said Markham. "Yes--because I tell the truth, sir. My cart is to be returned to me; but of what use is it, or the stock that is in it, since I don't dare go about to sell fruit?" "Could you not open a little shop?" "Ah! sir--that requires money!" "How much?" "A matter of four or five pounds, sir," replied the man; "and where could a poor devil like me----" "I will give you five pounds for the purpose;" interrupted Markham; and taking from his pocket-book a bank note, he handed it to the poor man. We will not attempt to depict his gratitude: words would completely fail to convey an idea of the exuberant joy which filled the heart of that good and affectionate father, who would rather have become a thief than seen his children starve! "And now, my good woman, what can I do for you?" said Markham, turning to the third object of his charity. "How in the name of heaven, came you reduced, with three children, to such a state of want and destitution?" "My husband, sir, is in prison," answered the poor creature, bursting into tears, while her children clung the more closely around her. "In prison! and for what crime?" "Oh! crime, sir--it is only a crime in the eye of the law, but not in the eye of either man or heaven." "My good woman, this is absurd. Is there any offence of which the law alone takes cognisance, and which is not reprehensible in the eye of God?" "On the contrary, sir--God has given us for our general use and benefit the very thing which the law has forbidden us to take." "This is trifling!" exclaimed Richard impatiently. "Can you, whom I behold so affectionate to your children, be hardened in guilt?"