ture, until his patience being quite exhausted, he could not resist his curiosity to inquire into the reason of his turning the bridge into a dwelling-place. “Pray, Sir,” he began, “may I be permitted to ask?”
Frank, by no means in a communicative humour, and finding the long expected address come from the lips of an old mendicant, answered rather sharply—“What do you want, old grey-beard? speak out.”
“Sir,” said the old man, “you and I were the first who took our stations on the bridge to-day, and you see we are the last to leave it. As for me and my companions, it is our business; but you do not belong to our fraternity, and yet you have passed all the day here. May I be informed, if it be no secret, what can have been your reason, and what weighs so much upon your mind, that you want to get clear of here?”
“What boots it for thee to know, my old fellow, what ails me, and what lies so heavy upon my heart? it can avail thee nothing.”
“But, Sir, I feel an interest in you; you have given me alms twice this blessed day, for which God reward you, say I. Yet your face is not half so happy as it was this morning, and I am sorry for it.”
This simple honest expression of sympathy won Frank’s heart; and losing all his misanthropy, he gave the old soldier a kind answer. “Learn, then,
