‘Come on; I’ll go with ye--I’ll stand by ye in a righteous cause!’ cried Montressor, starting to his feet. ‘Gently,’ said May, looking at him with mild eyes, leaning back in his chair. ‘It’s too late to-day. I’ll go to-morrow as soon as I’m up; and as for that old casuist Joe----’ ‘What’s Joe, or any other man,’ said Montressor, ‘in comparison with what’s generous, me friend, and kind? Here’s a young man, and as fine a young man as ye’ll see, that’s been good to ye--even if there’s nothing more in it.’ ‘Even if there’s nothing more in it,’ said May, in his mellow, melting voice. ‘And there may be more in it, Montressor. There may be little Johnnie in it, God bless him, my nice little chap!’ ‘Me friend,’ said Montressor, with enthusiasm, ‘there may be little Johnnie in it, grown up to be a credit to all that belongs to him, to be the prop of your old age and the blessin’ of your life, like me own Edie--to thank ye for saving him from ruin, to bless ye----’ ‘Hold hard!’ said the other. ‘Montressor, my good fellow, your eloquence is carrying you away. Thank me for saving him from ruin! It was hauling me up for stealing his papers that he was thinking of----’ ‘But not,’ cried John’s advocate, ‘not since he knew--not since it began to dawn upon him, poor boy----’ The convict put out his hand--and the actor stopped short in his appeal. They sat silent once more, looking at each other with thoughts that were too deep for speech. It was May who took up the broken sentence at last. ‘Ay,’ he said, ‘when it began to dawn upon him, poor boy, that the man he had picked up out of the streets, the man he had been so charitable to, the man he had trusted and that had betrayed him, the convict from Portland, was his father! Good Lord! Think of this happening to a proud, virtuous, self-conceited, right-minded, well-behaved young prig like that!’ He burst into something that sounded like a laugh, and yet was more miserable than any outcry of despair. ‘Think of that, Montressor,’ he said again, after a moment. ‘That’s stranger than any of your stage effects. Poor young beggar! all made up of pride and honour and rectitude, and all that, and as ambitious as Alexander to boot.’ He got up for a moment and stood by the table and looked round him. ‘I think I’ll go away. I think I’ll go right away and take myself out of the boy’s road. What would be the good of torturing him, and making him try to be respectful to his father? He’d be respectful--and awfully disagreeable,’ he added, with a lighter laugh. ‘I’ll not wait for him any longer. I’ll go right away.’ ‘Me noble friend! it’s your true heart that speaks!’ cried Montressor, seizing him by the arm. ‘Me house is open to you, May, and me heart--come with me.’ May looked round upon the room, the fire of his sentiment dying out, the habitual twinkle coming back to his eye.