lled them old lumber, they had often proved serviceable.

The strip of faded carpet and shabby little shut up washstand intended
for the surgery, and a couple of chairs, had been put into the empty
room, and though it looked bare enough to Marcus's eyes, and in spite
of the bright little fire terribly chilly, it would doubtless be a
haven of refuge to their miserable guest.

"He says it is just heaven," observed Marcus, when he came downstairs
to his wife; "the night before last, poor beggar, he was in the casual
ward, and last night he had a few hours in some refuge. 'Fancy the
casual ward for a gentleman's son,' he said to me so bitterly, 'and
there was actually a barrister there too, and we fraternised.' It is
just as I thought, Livy, he was discharged from the hospital about
three weeks ago, and has been roughing it ever since."

"Did you ask him his name, Marcus?"

"Yes, and he hesitated; I don't believe Robert Barton is his real name;
the way he gave it looked a bit shady; he is a good-looking fellow, and
I can't think he is vicious, but he is one of those weak fellows who
get led away. If we are to help him, he must tell us more about
himself."

Olivia found her hands full the next day; when Marcus went up to see
Barton, he found him flushed and feverish, and complained of aching in
his limbs.

"It is only a bad chill," he said, when Olivia looked grave at this
report; "but unless we take care of him well for a day or two, it will
be pneumonia or congestion of the lungs. I shall be pretty busy for
the next two or three hours, and am afraid I must leave him to you and
Martha. Don't let him talk, and keep the fire up, that room is still
like an ice-house. Are you sure you don't mind the bother, Livy?"

And though Olivia was too truthful to answer in the negative, she
promised to do her best for Marcus's _protege_.

Robert Barton looked more to advantage lying in bed in Dr. Luttrell's
old red striped blazer than he had done in his threadbare shabby
clothes the previous night; indeed, Olivia quite started when she saw
him; he was certainly what Marcus called him, a good-looking fellow,
the dark blue eyes were beautiful and full of expression; he flushed as
Olivia asked him kindly how he felt.

"I feel pretty bad," he returned, "and the doctor says I must lie here.
I used not to think much of the story of the Good Samaritan, but I
believe in it now. Oh, if you knew what it was to feel clean linen
abo