"I have thought so, and I have tried to
school myself to the thought; but my poor heart will not bear it!"
"Do not give up," softly urged the old man, laying his hand upon her
arm. "It makes but little difference to us now. We have not long to
remain on earth, and let us not wear out our last days in useless
repinings. Come, come."
"But when--when--shall we go?"
"Now--to-day."
"Then God have mercy on us!"
"He will," murmured Jacob.
That old couple sat for a while in silence. When they were aroused
from their painful thoughts it was by the stopping of a wagon in front
of the door. A man entered the room where they sat. He was the keeper
of the poorhouse.
"Come, Mr. Manfred," he said, "the selectmen have managed to crowd you
into the poorhouse. The wagon is at the door, and you can get ready as
soon as possible."
Jacob Manfred had not calculated the strength he should need for this
ordeal. There was a coldness in the very tone and manner of the man
who had come for him that went like an ice-bolt to his heart, and with
a deep groan he sank back in his seat.
"Come, be in a hurry," impatiently urged the keeper.
At that moment a heavy covered carriage drove up to the door.
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