"Take it, poor boy!--you look so hungry. Do take it." But the
servant forced her in, and the door was shut upon a sharp cry.

It made John Halifax start, and look up at the nursery window, which
was likewise closed. We heard nothing more. After a minute he
crossed the street, and picked up the slice of bread. Now in those
days bread was precious, exceedingly. The poor folk rarely got it;
they lived on rye or meal. John Halifax had probably not tasted
wheaten bread like this for months: it appeared not, he eyed it so
ravenously;--then, glancing towards the shut door, his mind seemed to
change. He was a long time before he ate a morsel; when he did so,
it was quietly and slowly; looking very thoughtful all the while.

As soon as the rain ceased, we took our way home, down the High
Street, towards the Abbey church--he guiding my carriage along in
silence. I wished he would talk, and let me hear again his pleasant
Cornish accent.

"How strong you are!" said I, sighing, when, with a sudden pull, he
had saved me from being overturned by a horseman riding past--young
Mr. Brithwood of the Mythe House, who never cared where he galloped
or whom he hurt--"So tall and so strong."

"Am I? Well, I shall want my strength."

"How?"

"To earn my living."