To do him justice, he was all parental grief at first, for his child was his idol.
The arms were stretched out across the table; the head rested on it; the man was utterly crushed.
Whilst he was so, the little office door opened softly, and a pale, worn, haggard face looked in.

It was the father of the poor man's child in mortal danger from privation and hereditary consumption.

That haggard face was come to ask the favor of employment, and bread for his girl, from the rich man whose child was clay..