Grateful for this consolation, feeble as it was in its reference to the
past, and little hope as it afforded him in connection with the subject
of distress which lay nearest to his heart; and really thankful for the
interest the minister expressed, and seemed to feel, in his condition;
Mr Haredale withdrew. He found himself, with the night coming on, alone
in the streets; and destitute of any place in which to lay his head.
He entered an hotel near Charing Cross, and ordered some refreshment and
a bed. He saw that his faint and worn appearance attracted the attention
of the landlord and his waiters; and thinking that they might suppose
him to be penniless, took out his purse, and laid it on the table. It
was not that, the landlord said, in a faltering voice. If he were one
of those who had suffered by the rioters, he durst not give him
entertainment. He had a family of children, and had been twice warned to
be careful in receiving guests. He heartily prayed his forgiveness, but
what could he do?
Nothing. No man felt that more sincerely than Mr Haredale. He told the
man as much, and left the house.
Feeling that he might have anticipated this occurrence, after what
he had seen at Chigwell in the morning, where no man dared to touch a
spade, though he offered a large reward to all who would come and dig
among the ruins of his house, he walked along the Strand; too proud
to expose himself to another refusal, and of too generous a spirit
to involve in distress or ruin any honest tradesman who might be weak
enough to give him shelter.
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