Hugh handed him the letter with one hand; and when he had read it, held out the fourpenny piece in the other hand, to be read likewise.  Falconer understood at once.

“Sutherland,” he said, in a tone of reproof, “it is a shame of you to forget that men are brothers.  Are not two who come out of the heart of God, as closely related as if they had lain in the womb of one mother?  Why did you not tell me?  You have suffered —­ I am sure you have.”

“I have —­ a little,” Hugh confessed.  “I am getting rather low in fact.  I haven’t had quite enough to eat.”

He said this to excuse the tears which Falconer’s kindness —­ not hunger—­compelled from their cells.

“But,” he added, “I would have come to you as soon as the fourpence was gone; or at least, if I hadn’t got another before I was very hungry again.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Falconer, half angrily.  Then pulling out his watch, “We have two hours,” said he, “before a train starts for the north.  Come to my place.”

Hugh rose and obeyed.  Falconer’s attendant soon brought them a plentiful supper from a neighbouring shop; after which Falconer got out one of his bottles of port, well known to his more intimate friends; and Hugh thought no more about money than if he had had his purse full.  If it had not been for anxiety about his mother, he would have been happier than he had ever been in his life before.  For, crossing in the night the wavering, heaving morass of the world, had he not set his foot upon one spot which did not shake; the summit, indeed, of a mighty Plutonic rock, that went down widening away to the very centre of the earth?  As he sped along in the railway that night, the prophecy of thousands of years came back:  “A man shall be a hiding-place from the wind, a covert from the tempest, the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.”  And he thought it would be a blessed time indeed, when this was just what a man was.  And then he thought of the Son of Man, who, by being such first, was enabling all his friends to be such too.  Of him Falconer had already learned this “truth in the inward parts”; and had found, in the process of learning it, that this was the true nature which God had made his from the first, no new thing superinduced upon it.  He had had but to clear away the rubbish of worldliness, which more or less buries the best natures for a time, and so to find himself.

After Hugh had eaten and drunk, and thus once more experienced the divinity that lay in food and wine, he went to take leave of his friends at Mrs. Elton’s.  Like most invalids, Euphra was better in the evening:  she requested to see him.  He found her in bed, and much wasted since he saw her last.  He could not keep the tears from filling his eyes, for all the events of that day had brought them near the surface.

“Do not cry, dear friend,” she said sweetly.  “There is no room for me here any more, and I am sent for.”