ld have thought that she could say the last two words with such
an accent of tender pride?

"No, ma'am, I did not know. Is it really _this_ Mr. Brooke? The name,
you see, is not so uncommon as some, and I did not think----"

"I know, I know," said Lesley, hurriedly. "But just tell me this--is it
true? Do the poor people suffer as much in England as he says they do?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, I'm afraid so, at least. I've seen a good deal of
suffering in my day."

Lesley was quiet for a little while, and the woman brushed out her
shining hair. "Tell me," she said, "what is the worst suffering of
all--will you? I mean, a suffering caused by being poor--nothing to do
with your own life, of course. Is it the being hungry, or cold--or
what?"

Kingston considered for a moment. "I think," she said at last, "it isn't
the being cold or hungry yourself that matters so much as seeing those
that belong to you cold and hungry. That's the worst. If you have
children, it does go to your heart to hear them ask you for something to
eat, and you have nothing to give them."

"Yes," said Lesley, softly, "I should think that is the worst."

"But I don't know," said Kingston, in a perfectly unmoved and stolid
tone, "whether it's worse than having no candles."

Lesley looked up in astonishment.

"It's when any one's ill that you feel that," the woman went on, in the
same level tones. "In winter it's dark, maybe, at four o'clock, and not
light again till nearly nine in the morning. It doesn't matter so much
if you can go out. But if you have to sit by some one who's ill, and you
can't see their faces, and if they leave off moaning you think they're
dead--and perhaps when the early morning light comes it's only a dead
face you have to look upon, and you never saw them draw their last
breath--why, then, you feel mad-like to think of the candles that are
wasted in big houses and of the bread that's thrown away."

Lesley listened, appalled. A homely detail of this kind impressed her
more than any appeal to her higher imagination. The woes of the poor
had suddenly become real.

"I hope you never had to go through all that, Kingston," she said, very
gently.

"Yes, ma'am, twice," said Kingston. "Once with my mother, and once with
my little boy. They were both dead in the morning, but I didn't see 'em
die."

"But where was your husband? Was he dead?" said Lesley, quickly.

"Oh, no, ma'am. But he was amusing himself. He was a gentleman, you
se