“You are worried and tired, doctor,” said the harsh voice.  “Why ain’t you with your friends, instead of tramping the streets after that long day in court?”

“Because I have no friends left,” I answered, for I had arrived at that stage of humiliation when a man no longer cares to cloak the truth.

A look of pity passed over Mr. Strong’s fat face, and the lines about the pugnacious mouth softened a little.

“Is that so?” he said.  “Well, young man, you’re learning now what happens to those who put their faith in fashionable folk and not in the Lord.  Rats can’t scuttle from a sinking ship faster than fashionable folk from a friend in trouble.  You come along and have a bit of supper with me and my missis.  We’re humble trades-folk, but, perhaps as things are, you won’t mind that.”

I accepted Mr. Strong’s invitation with gratitude, indeed his kindness touched me.  Leading me to his principal shop, we passed through it and down a passage to a sitting-room heavily furnished with solid horsehair-seated chairs and a sofa.  In the exact centre of this sofa, reading by the light of a lamp with a pink shade which was placed on a table behind her, sat a prim grey-haired woman dressed in a black silk dress and apron and a lace cap with lappets.  I noticed at once that the right lappet was larger than the left.  Evidently it had been made so with the design of hiding a patch of affected skin below the ear, which looked to me as though it had been caused by the malady called lupus.  I noticed further that the little woman was reading an anti-vaccination tract with a fearful picture of a diseased arm upon its cover.

“Martha,” said Mr. Strong, “Dr. Therne, whom they’re trying at the court yonder, has come in for supper.  Dr. Therne, that’s my wife.”

Mrs. Strong rose and offered her hand.  She was a thin person, with rather refined features, a weak mouth, and kindly blue eyes.

“I’m sure you are welcome,” she said in a small monotonous voice.  “Any of Stephen’s friends are welcome, and more especially those of them who are suffering persecution for the Right.”

“That is not exactly my case, madam,” I answered, “for if I had done what they accuse me of I should deserve hanging, but I did not do it.”

“I believe you, doctor,” she said, “for you have true eyes.  Also Stephen says so.  But in any case the death of the dear young woman was God’s will, and if it was God’s will, how can you be responsible?”

While I was wondering what answer I should make to this strange doctrine a servant girl announced that supper was ready, and we went into the next room to partake of a meal, plain indeed, but of most excellent quality.  Moreover, I was glad to find, unlike his wife, who touched nothing but water, that Mr. Strong did not include teetotalism among his eccentricities.  On the contrary, he produced a bottle of really fine port for my especial benefit.