He had hungered for just this, and the impulse to show the whole of his heart and life to Mrs.Dillingham was irresistible.
"If you'll never tell." "I will never tell, Harry." "Never, never tell ?" "Never." "You are Mr.Belcher's friend, aren't you ?" "I know Mr.Belcher." "If Mr.Belcher should tell you that he would kill you if you didn't tell, what would you do ?" "I should call the police," responded Mrs.Dillingham, with a smile.
Then Harry, in a simple, graphic way, told her all about the hard, wretched life in Sevenoaks, the death of his mother, the insanity of his father, the life in the poor-house, the escape, the recovery of his father's health, his present home, and the occasion of his own removal to New York.

The narrative was so wonderful, so full of pathos, so tragic, so out of all proportion in its revelation of wretchedness to the little life at her side, that the lady was dumb.

Unconsciously to herself--almost unconsciously to the boy--her arms closed around him, and she lifted him into her lap.

There, with his head against her breast, he concluded his story; and there were tears upon his hair, rained from the eyes that bent above him.

They sat for a long minute in silence.