Just as they had entered the narrow alley, they heard a hasty tread, and almost running over them with his long strides, came Mr. Dusautoy.  He brought himself up short, just in time, and exclaimed, ’I beg your pardon—­Mrs. Kendal, I believe.  Could you be kind enough to give me a glass of brandy?’

Albinia gave a great start, as well she might.

‘I was going to fetch one,’ quickly proceeded Mr. Dusautoy, ’but your house is nearer.  A poor man—­there—­just come home—­been on the tramp for work—­quite exhausted—­’ and he pointed to one of the cottages.

‘I’ll fetch it at once,’ cried Albinia.

‘Thank you,’ he said, as they crossed the street.  ’This poor fellow has had nothing all day, has walked from Hadminster—­just got home, sank down quite worn out, and there is nothing in the house but dry bread.  His wife wants something nearly as much as he does.’

In the excitement, Albinia utterly forgot all scruples about ‘Bluebeard’s closet.’  She hurried into the house, and made but one dash, standing before her astonished husband’s dreamy eyes, exclaiming, ’Pray give me the key of the cellaret; there’s a poor man just come home, fainting with exhaustion, Mr. Dusautoy wants some brandy for him.’

Like a man but half awake, obeying an apparition, Mr. Kendal put his hand into his pocket and gave her the key.  She was instantly opening the cellaret, seeking among the bottles, and asking questions all the time.  She proposed taking a jug of the kitchen-tea then in operation, and Mr. Dusautoy caught at the idea, so that poor Lucy beheld the dreadful spectacle of the vicar bearing a can full of steaming tea, and Mrs. Kendal a small cup with the ’spirituous liquor.’  What was the asparagus to this?

Albinia told her to go on to Mrs. Meadows’, and that she should soon follow.  She intended to have gone the moment that she had carried in the cup, leaving Mr. Dusautoy in the cottage, but the poor trembling frightened wife needed woman’s sympathy and soothing, and she waited to comfort her, and to see the pair more able to enjoy the meeting, in their tidy, but bare and damp-looking cottage.  She promised broth for the morrow, and took her leave, the vicar coming away at the same time.

‘Thank you,’ he said, warmly, as they came out, and turned to mount the hill together.

‘May I go and call on them again?’

’It will be very kind in you.  Poor Simkins is a steady, good sort of fellow, but a clumsy workman, down-hearted, and with poor health, and things have been untoward with him.’

‘People, who do not prosper in the world are not always the worst,’ said Albinia.

’No, indeed, and these are grateful, warm-hearted people that you will like, if you can get over the poor woman’s lackadaisical manner.  But you are used to all that,’ he added, smiling.  ’I see you know what poor folk are made of.’

‘I have been living among them nearly all my days,’ said Albinia.  ’I hope you will give me something to do, I should be quite forlorn without it;’ and she looked up to his kind, open face, as much at home with him as if she had known, him for years.