The light from the candle fell full on the face of the sleeper, and although Sally often tried to read one of her favourite books, yet as oft she found her eyes rivetted upon the countenance of the man before her.  At times he moaned as though in pain; again he smiled a sweet, sweet smile so innocent and childlike, as if no care had ever crossed his path; then a deep, deep sigh heaved his breast, as though all hope had died within it.  Sally leaned over him, and tears rolled down her cheeks as she gazed on him, and with her hand she gently parted his curly locks, exposing a brow that rivalled her own for whiteness.  She was thus occupied when his eyes slowly opened, and she started back.  He looked around him with a listlessness that showed the stupor had not yet worn off.  Presently he aroused himself, and in a husky voice asked, “Where am I?”

“You are in the house of those who have endeavoured to befriend you,” she replied; “you are quite safe, perhaps you had better try to sleep again.”

“No! sleep! no!  Let me have something to drink I Bring me some beer, I’m choaking.”

“That I cannot do, and would not if I could; but here is some tea made nice and warm, that will do you much more good.”  And as she said this she handed him the jug.

He took it from her, with a half-amused, half-astonished expression on his face, and drank the contents at a draught.  “There, there!” he muttered and reseated himself.

He looked for a short time at Sally, as she sat opposite him, but there was such an air of dignity, mingled with compassion, imprinted on her face, that it was only after one or two ineffectual attempts that he could articulate another word.  At length he said, “Will you kindly tell me, miss, where I am and how I came here?”

“You are in my father’s house in--------street, and he carried you here. 
I stumbled over something on my way home, and on going back with my
parents, we found you laid helpless on the pavement.  They have gone to
bed, and I am waiting until you feel able to resume your walk home.”

“It must have been quite evident to you that I was in liquor, and I must have caused you great inconvenience.  I did not think there was a person in the world who would have taken so much trouble on my behalf, but I am glad to say that I am in a position to pay for it, and you are at liberty to help yourself,” saying which, he threw a wellfilled purse upon the table.

“I beg that you will replace the purse in your pocket, sir.  To any kindness you have received you are welcome, and you would only insult my parents by offering to pay.”

“Not a very enviable looking home,” he muttered, “but it seems pride can dwell in a cottage.”  “Just pride can dwell in the cottage as well as in the mansion I hope,” she replied, rising to open the door.  “The morning is cold yet fine,” she said, “and as you are, doubtless, expected home, it may be advisable not to delay your departure.”