'Misfortune,' she said, gravely, 'is falling upon all of us. Thou alone wilt survive--the triumph of virtue. Go, however, take the man something, or he will starve. Give it him from me, Will. Tell him--tell him'--She considered for a little. 'Tell him--as soon as I can forget, I will forgive. Not that he cares whether he is forgiven or not. A man, Will, I very truly believe, may be anything he pleases--drunkard--murderer--highwayman: yet something may still survive in him of human kindness. There will still be a place, perhaps, for compassion or for love. But for a gambler there is no compassion left. He is more hardened than the worst villain in this wretched place: he has neither sense, nor pity, nor affection, nor anything. He is all gambler.' 'I will give him your money, Jenny. But not your message.' She smiled sadly. 'Go, Will. The money will solace him as long as it lasts. Perhaps a quarter of an hour.' I repaired without delay to the Fleet Prison. Those who walk up and down the Fleet market know of the open window in the wall and the grating, behind which stands a man holding a tin box which he rattles to attract attention while he repeats his parrot cry, 'Pity the Poor Prisoners! Pity the Poor Prisoners!' This humiliation is imposed upon those of the Common side: they must beg or they must starve. What was my surprise and shame--who could believe that one of my family should fall so low?--to recognise in the prisoner behind these bars, my cousin Matthew! None other. His face was pale--it had always been pale: now it was white: his hand shook: he was unshaven and uncombed: I pretended not to notice him. I entered the prison and was told that he was holding the plate, but would be free in half an hour. So I waited in the yard until he came out, being relieved of his task. I now saw that he was in rags. How can a man dressed as a substantial merchant fall into rags in a few days? There was but one answer. The gambler can get rid of everything: Matthew had played for his clothes and lost. I accosted him. At sight of me he fell into a paroxysm of rage. He reviled and cursed me. I had been the cause of all his misfortunes: he wept and sobbed, being weak for want of food and cold. So I let him go on until he stopped and sank exhausted upon the bench. Then I told him that I had come to him from his wife. He began again to curse and to swear. It was Jenny now who was the cause of all his troubles: it was Jenny who refused to obey him: her liabilities alone had prevented him from weathering the storm: he should certainly have weathered the storm: and so on--foolish recrimination that meant nothing. I made no answer until he had again exhausted his strength, but not his bitterness. 'Matthew,' I said, 'the woman against whom you have been railing sends you money. Here it is. Use it for living and not for gambling,' The money I gave him was five guineas.