"My poverty, but not my will, consents."

The sentiment conveyed in this line powerfully affected him, but in a
way which I could not then comprehend. I collected from subsequent
events that the inference was not unfavourable to my understanding or my
morals. He questioned me as to my history. I related my origin and my
inducements to desert my father's house. With respect to last night's
adventures I was silent. I saw no useful purpose that could be answered
by disclosure, and I half suspected that my companion would refuse
credit to my tale.

There were frequent intervals of abstraction and reflection between his
questions. My examination lasted not much less than an hour. At length
he said, "I want an amanuensis or copyist. On what terms will you live
with me?"

I answered that I knew not how to estimate the value of my services. I
knew not whether these services were agreeable or healthful. My life had
hitherto been active. My constitution was predisposed to diseases of the
lungs, and the change might be hurtful. I was willing, however, to try
and to content myself for a month or a year, with so much as would
furnish me with food, clothing, and lodging.

"'Tis well," said he. "You remain with me as long and no longer than
both of us please. You shall lodge and eat in this house. I will supply
you with clothing, and your task will be to write what I dictate. Your
person, I see, has not shared much of your attention. It is in my power
to equip you instantly in the manner which becomes a resident in this
house. Come with me."