but not rough grasp of the master who held him.

At last the men were told to return to the house, and thither,
by a different path, was George led till they entered a small,
poorly-furnished room. The walls were covered with books, as the
bright flame of the fire revealed to the anxious gaze of the
little culprit. The clergyman lit a lamp, and surveyed his prisoner
attentively. The lad's eyes were fixed on the ground, whilst Mr.
Leyton's wandered from his pale, pinched features to his scanty,
ragged attire, through the tatters of which he could discern the
thin limbs quivering from cold or fear; and when at last impelled by
curiosity at the long silence, George looked up, there was something
so sadly compassionate in the stranger's gentle look, that the boy
could scarcely believe that he was really the man whose evidence had
mainly contributed to transport his father. At the trial he had been
unable to see his face, and nothing so kind had over gazed upon him.
His proud bad feelings were already melting.

"You look half-starved," said Mr. Leyton, "draw nearer to the fire,
you can sit down on that stool whilst I question you; and mind you
answer me the truth. I am not a magistrate, but of course can easily
hand you over to justice if you will not allow me to benefit you in my
own way."

George still stood twisting his ragged cap in his trembling fingers,
and with so much emotion depicted on his face, that the good clergyman
resumed, in still more soothing accents: "I have no wish to do you
anything but good, my poor boy; look up at me, and see if you cannot
trust me; you need not be thus frightened. I only desire to hear the
tale of misery your appearance indicates, to relieve it if I can."