"Are you?" The homeless lad just glanced at it--the flight of
spotless stone-steps, guarded by ponderous railings, which led to my
father's respectable and handsome door. "Good day, then--which means
good-bye."

I started. The word pained me. On my sad, lonely life--brief
indeed, though ill health seemed to have doubled and trebled my
sixteen years into a mournful maturity--this lad's face had come like
a flash of sunshine; a reflection of the merry boyhood, the youth and
strength that never were, never could be, mine. To let it go from me
was like going back into the dark.

"Not good-bye just yet!" said I, trying painfully to disengage myself
from my little carriage and mount the steps. John Halifax came to my
aid.

"Suppose you let me carry you. I could--and--and it would be great
fun, you know."

He tried to turn it into a jest, so as not to hurt me; but the
tremble in his voice was as tender as any woman's--tenderer than any
woman's _I_ ever was used to hear. I put my arms round his neck; he
lifted me safely and carefully, and set me at my own door. Then with
another good-bye he again turned to go.

My heart cried after him with an irrepressible cry. What I said I do
not remember, but it caused him to return.

"Is there anything more I can do for you, sir?"