There was a friend whom more than once he had thought of consulting, but a sense of shame had restrained him. Now in this crisis of his affairs, he felt that no other course lay open to him, and that if it was in any way possible he should act upon whatsoever advice should be given him.
He wrapped himself in his heavy mackintosh, pressed down his soft felt hat closely, and set out to walk toward Dulwich through the wind and the rain. The raw air at first chilled then stimulated him and he made his way along rapidly. Gradually the ferment in his mind was allayed, and when he arrived in sight of his friend’s house, he almost hesitated as to going in; the physical exercise seemed to have cleared his mental horizon. But the half-hesitation brought back the feeling of helplessness from which he was trying to escape and he hurried on.
“Why, Edward! You! It’s an age since you came my way; I thought you’d forgotten me. Give the girl your things—so—come along in here and warm yourself by the fire. You don’t know how glad I am to see you. But—you’re not looking well, though you’ve got a color.”
The speaker was a middle-aged, thin little woman, with a sharp face, stamped deeply by the hand of pain, with deep-set, kindly gray eyes and a mouth that seemed formed so as to be able to give utterance only to words of kindness or of consolation.
“Yes, yes, thank you, I’m quite well in body. I see—you haven’t heard?”
He did not answer, and after a searching look at him, she went on:
“She’s not ill? If she is, why _didn’t_ you send for me, or come for me?”
“No, no, no, it’s not that,” he broke in, vehemently; “it’s something far worse than that. I scarcely know how to tell you. She’s—gone away—away from me.”
“We weren’t happy together; at least, she wasn’t happy; she went away and she’s living a life of sin with another man. Oh, what am I to do?”
“This is terrible. My poor boy, my poor boy.”
She went quietly over to him, and putting her arm round his shoulder, drew his head gently to her. Then his pent-up suffering broke its bonds, and he sobbed bitterly as he rested there, near that kind heart to which no one in sorrow had ever appealed in vain.
“My poor boy, why didn’t you come to me sooner?—instead of fighting it out all alone, though not alone, for I know you have faith in the great Comforter.”