“I’m not going to faint,” he said weakly, “but I felt as if I was.  It was a bad fit, and I had to try and hold him.  I was all by myself.  The people in the other attic thought he was only drunk, and they wouldn’t come in.  He’s lying on the floor there, dead.”

“Come and see my father,” Marco said.  “He’ll tell us what do do.  Lazarus, help him.”

“I can get on by myself,” said The Rat.  “Do you see my crutches?  I did something for a pawnbroker last night, and he gave them to me for pay.”

But though he tried to speak carelessly, he had plainly been horribly shaken and overwrought.  His queer face was yellowish white still, and he was trembling a little.

Marco led the way into the back sitting-room.  In the midst of its shabby gloom and under the dim light Loristan was standing in one of his still, attentive attitudes.  He was waiting for them.

“Father, this is The Rat,” the boy began.  The Rat stopped short and rested on his crutches, staring at the tall, reposeful figure with widened eyes.

“Is that your father?” he said to Marco.  And then added, with a jerky half-laugh, “He’s not much like mine, is he?”

X

THE RAT—­AND SAMAVIA

What The Rat thought when Loristan began to speak to him, Marco wondered.  Suddenly he stood in an unknown world, and it was Loristan who made it so because its poverty and shabbiness had no power to touch him.  He looked at the boy with calm and clear eyes, he asked him practical questions gently, and it was plain that he understood many things without asking questions at all.  Marco thought that perhaps he had, at some time, seen drunken men die, in his life in strange places.  He seemed to know the terribleness of the night through which The Rat had passed.  He made him sit down, and he ordered Lazarus to bring him some hot coffee and simple food.

“Haven’t had a bite since yesterday,” The Rat said, still staring at him.  “How did you know I hadn’t?”

“You have not had time,” Loristan answered.

Afterward he made him lie down on the sofa.

“Look at my clothes,” said The Rat.

“Lie down and sleep,” Loristan replied, putting his hand on his shoulder and gently forcing him toward the sofa.  “You will sleep a long time.  You must tell me how to find the place where your father died, and I will see that the proper authorities are notified.”

“What are you doing it for?” The Rat asked, and then he added, “sir.”

“Because I am a man and you are a boy.  And this is a terrible thing,” Loristan answered him.

He went away without saying more, and The Rat lay on the sofa staring at the wall and thinking about it until he fell asleep.  But, before this happened, Marco had quietly left him alone.  So, as Loristan had told him he would, he slept deeply and long; in fact, he slept through all the night.