Loe raamatut: «The Story of Antony Grace», lehekülg 15

“Poor model,” he said softly, “dead so soon!” and with a sad, weary air of resignation as he smiled at me: “it was a very short life, Antony. Let us go down, my boy. You must be wearied out.”

I followed him on to the landing without a word, and after he had locked up the attic he led the way softly to the sitting-room, where he lit a fire and we had some breakfast, for it was too late to think of bed. Shortly afterwards we walked down together to the office, and I saw him no more till the day’s work was done.

Chapter Twenty Nine.
Another Wakeful Night

Stephen Hallett was in too much trouble to speak to me about the model that evening. Mrs Hallett was in tears, and full of repinings, and Linny was out, it seemed, when her brother had returned.

I soon found that he did not wish me to stay, and being tired out, I made the best of my way back to Caroline Street, and went to bed to sleep heavily, dreaming that Hallett and I were working away at the model, but as fast as ever we got it nearly to perfection, Mr Blakeford came and stood by to throw in the pieces of the stick with which he had been beaten by Mr Wooster, and every time he did so the little model was broken.

Then the whole scene of the flogging seemed to take the place of Hallett’s attic, and I saw Mr Blakeford sit down in a chair, panting, bloody, and exhausted, and he kept on saying in a low hoarse voice, “Antony, lad, water!”

It was very terrible to see him sitting there by the light of the office gas, for though I wanted to help him, the power was not there, and, strive how I would, I could not get to his side, or fetch what he asked for.

“Antony, lad, water!”

His voice sounded like a groan, and I knew he must be very bad; but still I could not help him, and the bitter moan with which he appealed to me seemed to cut me to the heart.

“Antony, lad, water!”

There it was again, and I started up to find myself in bed, with a candle burning in the room, and Revitts, with his hat on the floor, his coat torn open, and his face besmeared with the blood flowing from a cut in the forehead, was seated close beside his bed, evidently half fainting.

“Antony, lad, water?” he moaned; and leaping out of bed and hurrying on some clothes, I tried to give him what help I could, but in a strangely confused way; for I was, as it were, in a dream, consequent upon the deep sleep succeeding a night without my usual rest. I held a glass of water to his lips, however, from which he drank with avidity. And then, awakening more to the state in which he was, and realising that it was not a dream, I set to work and sponged and bound up the cut with a handkerchief, to find, however, to my horror, that there was another terrible cut on the back of his head, which was also bleeding profusely.

My next idea was to go for a doctor, but I reflected that I ought to first bind up the other wound, and this I did, leaving him in the chair, with his chest and head lying over on the bed, looking so white that a chill of horror shot through me, for I fancied that he was dying.

I knew there was a doctor’s two streets off, and I ran to where the red bull’s-eye in the lamp shone out like a danger signal; rang the night-bell; heard a window above me open, and, after explaining my business and what was the matter, the medical man promised to come.

I ran back to find that Revitts had not moved, but that my attempts to bandage his wounds had proved to be ineffectual. I did what more I could, though, and then sat horror-stricken and silent, holding the poor fellow’s hand, speaking to him at intervals, but eliciting nothing but a moan.

It seemed as if the doctor would never come, and I was about to rouse up some of the people in the house when I heard the bell, and ran to admit him.

He looked curiously at me as I stood there, candle in hand, and as I closed the door he said gruffly:

“A drunken fall, I suppose?”

“Oh no, sir,” I said hastily. “Mr Revitts never drinks.”

“Humph?” he ejaculated; and I led him up to where Revitts sat.

“Policeman, eh?” said the doctor; “this is a job for the surgeon to the division, my man. Mustn’t leave him to bleed to death, though.”

He slipped off his coat, and, exerting his strength, lifted poor Revitts on to the bed, after which he removed my bandages and made an examination.

“Hold the candle nearer, boy, nearer still. That’s right. You won’t singe his hair. If you do it won’t matter, for I must clip it off short. Humph! some one has given him a pretty topper with a thick stick, and he must have fallen with his head on the edge of a step. Terrible cuts?”

“But will they kill him, sir?” I faltered, feeling quite sick at the sight of the wounds.

“We won’t let them, my man. Come, hold up, you mustn’t, let that turn you faint.”

“I – I won’t, sir,” I said.

“That’s right, my man. Nothing like a little will and determination. We men must leave fainting to the girls. That’s right; basin and sponge and towel. We’ll soon put him straight. Now that case out of my pocket. That’s well. Hold the candle nearer. No snuffers? Well, use your fingers. Dirty trick, but handy – fingery, I ought to say.”

He kept on talking – half-playfully, while with his bright scissors he clipped the hair away close from Revitts’ forehead, and then, cutting up some plaister in strips, he rapidly bandaged the cuts, after bringing the edges of the wounds together with a few stitches from a needle and some silk.

“Poor fellow! he has got a sad knocking about,” the doctor said kindly, for now the annoyance at being called out of bed was over he was deeply interested in his case. “I wonder some of his fellow-constables did not take him to the hospital. Where did you find him?”

I told him how I was astonished by finding Revitts at my bedside.

“Ah yes, I see,” he said. “Hurt and half-insensible, and nature intervenes. Education says, Take him to the hospital; instinct bids him, animal-like, creep to his hole to die.”

“To die, sir?” I cried, catching his hand.

“Die? No: nonsense, boy. I was only speaking metaphorically. Don’t you see?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“No, you don’t, you young humbug,” he retorted sharply. “You don’t know what a metaphor is.”

“Yes, sir, it’s a figure of speech in which one idea is used instead of another.”

“Hallo!” he said; “why, how do you get your living?”

“I’m a reading-boy at a printer’s, sir.”

“Oh! Are you? I should have thought you were reading-boy to a professor of language. Well, we mustn’t forget our patient. Give me a glass, boy.”

“Will a teacup do, sir?”

“Oh yes, and a teaspoon. That’s right,” he said; and, emptying a little phial into the cup, he proceeded to give poor Revitts some of the stimulus it contained.

“There,” he said, “he’s coming round, poor fellow; but I daresay he’ll be a bit shaky in the head. He mustn’t get up; and you must give notice at his station as soon as it’s light, or to the first policeman you see.”

“But you don’t think he’ll die, sir?”

“Die, my man? No. A great stout fellow like that is not likely to die from a crack or two on the head.”

I drew a long breath of relief, and soon after the doctor left, bidding me not be alarmed if I found his patient slightly delirious.

It was no pleasant task, sitting there alone, watching by my poor friend, and many times over I felt so alarmed at his condition that I rose to go and rouse up some of the people of the house; but whenever I reached the door the doctor’s reassuring words came back, and, feeling that he must know what was right, I sat by the bedside, holding Revitts’ hand till towards morning, when he began to move uneasily and to mutter and throw about his arms, ending by seeming to wake from a troubled sleep.

“Where am I?” he said sharply.

“Here at home, in bed,” I said.

“Who’s that?”

“It is I, Bill, don’t you know me?”

“Yes, yes, I know you!” he said. “Oh, my head, my head!”

“What was it? How was it done?” I said.

There was a pause, and then, in a weary way:

“I don’t know – I can’t recollect. Everything’s going round. Yes, I know: I heard a little girl call out for help, and I saw a fellow dragging her towards an open door, and I went at him.”

“Yes, Bill. Well?”

“That’s all. I don’t know anything else. Oh, my head, my head!”

“But did he hit you?” I asked.

“Yes, I think so, and I went down,” he groaned; “and I don’t know any – any more, but I should know that fellow out of a thousand, and – ”

He began muttering to himself, and as I bent over him I fancied I made out the word “staff,” but all else was unintelligible, and the poor fellow sank into a heavy sleep which seemed likely to last.

Soon after seven I got the landlady to come and sit with him while I ran to the police-station, and told the inspector on duty about Revitts’ state.

“There,” he exclaimed to another officer, “I told you so. He’s too steady a fellow to have gone wrong. All right, my man, I’ll send on the surgeon, and we’ll see what’s to be done. You don’t know how it was?”

I told him all I knew, and then ran on to Hallett’s to ask him to get me excused at the office.

I found him looking very pale, but Linny was not visible; and then I told him about Revitts’ state.

“It’s very strange,” he exclaimed. “Linny came home in trouble last night. She said some man had insulted her, and when she called for help a policeman ran up; and she left them struggling together while she made her escape and came home.”

“Then it must have been Revitts who helped her,” I said; and I then told him that I wanted to stay with the poor fellow.

“I’ll arrange all that for you, Antony,” he said quietly; and I made the best of my way back to Caroline Street, to find that poor Revitts had not moved, only kept on muttering where he had been laid by the doctor; and I took the watcher’s place, made tea for him, and spoke to him again and again, but without result.

The police surgeon came soon after with the inspector I had seen, asked me a few questions as he examined the injuries, and then I saw him tighten his lips.

“Hadn’t he better be taken to the infirmary, sir?” the inspector asked.

“No,” was the reply; “he must not be moved.” Then, turning to me: “You had better get some one to come and nurse him, my lad,” he said; “mother, sister, or somebody. I’ll call in again in the evening.”

I knew from this that the poor fellow must be seriously hurt, and had I wanted confirmation, I had it in the delirious mutterings that now came from his lips.

I sat by him in great trouble, wondering what I should do, when the doctor I had fetched called in, who, on learning that the divisional surgeon had been, nodded his satisfaction and turned to go.

“Please tell me, sir,” I said, “is he very, very bad?”

“Well, bad enough, my lad; you see, he has got concussion of the brain, and I daresay he will be ill for some time, but I do not anticipate anything serious. He must have a nurse.”

As soon as he had gone I sat and thought for a few minutes what I ought to do. Miss Carr was very kind and generous. If I asked her she would pay for a nurse; but no, I would not ask her without first consulting Hallett. He would help me in my difficulty, I felt sure, especially as it was probable that Linny was the girl poor Revitts had protected. But Hallett would not be back till evening, and then perhaps he would – no, he would be sure to come in.

I sat thinking, and the landlady came up, full of bewailings about her injured lodger, and in her homely way promised to come and wait on him from time to time. Then a bright thought occurred to me. I would write and tell Mary that Revitts was hurt, for I felt that she ought to know, and hastily taking pen and paper, I wrote her word that my friend was very ill, and asked her to tell me the address of some of his relations, that I might send them word. I did not forget to add a postscript, urging her to secrecy as to my whereabouts, for my dread of Mr Blakeford was as great as ever.

Seizing my opportunity when Revitts was more quiet, I slipped out and posted the letter, running back panting to find that a lady had come – so the landlady said – during my absence, and, rushing upstairs I stood staring with amazement on finding Linny in the room taking off her jacket and hat.

“You here, Linny?” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Why not?”

“Was it you, then, that poor Revitts helped last night?”

“Yes,” she said, with a shiver, and she turned white. “Yes, poor fellow. It was very brave of him, and I have come to help him in return.”

“But does – does Stephen know?”

“How can he,” she said meekly, “when he is at the office?”

“But I am sure he would not approve of your coming,” I said stoutly.

“I can’t help that,” she replied quietly. “He will think it his duty to find fault, and I think it mine to come and help to nurse this poor fellow who was hurt in serving me.”

“But your mother – Mrs Hallett?”

“I have arranged for some one to go in and wait upon her till I go back,” said Linny quietly. “Now, what had I better do?” I could think of nothing better than to suggest some beef-tea, and she snatched at the notion, running out to fetch the material; and soon after having it simmering by the fire, while she tidied the room in a way only possible to a woman; and as she busied herself in a quiet, quick fashion, I could not help noticing how pale and subdued she seemed. It was very evident that her nerves had had a severe shock on the previous night, and as I gazed at the pretty, soft little face and figure, bending themselves so earnestly to the task in hand, I could hardly believe it was the same giddy, coquettish girl who caused her brother so much concern.

The day wore slowly by, and in spite of my efforts and real anxiety, I could not keep awake, but caught myself dozing off sometimes to start up, feeling horribly guilty, and ready to excuse myself to Linny on the plea that I had had hardly any sleep for two nights.

“The more need for me to come, Antony,” she said quietly, and bidding me lie down for an hour or two, she took out her work and, seated herself by the sick man’s pillow.

She woke me up at last to have a sort of tea-dinner with her, after I had seen that Revitts remained perfectly insensible, and then the evening wore on, the surgeon came and nodded his satisfaction at finding a nurse there, said that the patient was going on all right, but must have time, and took his leave.

At half-past eight, just as I had anticipated, Hallett arrived, and started with surprise on seeing his sister.

“You here?” he said, with an angry look upon his brow.

“Yes, Stephen,” she said quietly; “I have come to help nurse him.”

“It was an ill-advised step,” he said sternly. “You did not know that this was the man who protected you.”

“I felt so sure of it that I came to see,” she replied. “Don’t be angry with me, Stephen,” she whispered. “I owned to you last night that I was in fault, and meant to do better.”

“Yes, and refused to answer my questions,” he replied. “You do not tell me whom you went to see.”

“Is it not enough that I have promised you I’ll go no more?” she replied with quivering lips.

“Yes, yes, my child,” he said tenderly, as he took her in his arms and laid his cheek against her forehead. “It is enough, and I will not press you. Dear Linny, indeed I strive for your good.”

“I know that, Stephen,” she cried with a wild burst of tears, and, flinging her arms round his neck, she kissed him again and again. “My own brave, good brother,” she said; “and I’ve been so ungrateful and selfish! Oh, Stephen, I’m a beast – a wretch!” she sobbed.

“Hush, hush, little one,” he said; and then, starting, he held her at arm’s length and gazed full in her eyes. “Why, Linny,” he exclaimed, as a light seemed to have flashed across his mind, “it was that man – you went to meet – who insulted you.”

She turned away her face, and hung her head, shivering as he spoke, and weeping bitterly.

“It was,” he cried; “you do not deny it. The villain!”

“Please, please don’t, Stephen,” she sobbed in a low, piteous voice.

“Linny!” he cried hoarsely; and his face looked terrible. “If I knew who it was, I believe I should kill him?”

“Stephen,” she wailed, “pray – pray! We are not alone.”

“There is only Antony here,” he said, “and he is like a brother.” Then, making an effort over himself, he strained the little panting figure to his breast, and kissed her tenderly. “It is all past, my darling,” he said to her softly, and he smoothed her hair with his hand, as if she had been his child. “I’ll say no more, dear, for you have promised me.”

“Yes; and I will keep my word, Stephen.”

He kissed her again, and loosed her, to stand with brows knit with trouble.

“I do not like your coming here, Linny,” he cried at last.

“Why not, dear?” she said, laying her hands upon his shoulder. “It is an earnest of my promise. He came to me when I was in trouble.”

“Yes,” he said; “you are right,” and after looking at the patient he sat down and talked to us in a low tone.

“Is it not nearly time for you to go back, Linny?” Hallett said at last.

“Back!” she said; “I am going to sit up with Antony; the poor fellow must not be left. The doctor said so.”

Hallett took a turn up and down the room, and then stopped.

“You have had no sleep for two nights, Antony,” he said. “Lie down. I will sit up with my sister, and watch by poor Revitts’ side.”

I protested, but it was in vain; and at last I lay down in my clothes to watch the faces of brother and sister by the shaded lamp, till my eyes involuntarily closed, and I opened them again to see the two faces in the same positions, but without the lamp, for there was the morning light.

Chapter Thirty.
Revitts’ Nurse Arrives

Hallett left quite early, to see that Mrs Hallett was properly attended to, and he moreover undertook to speak to either Mr Ruddle or Mr Lister about my absence, as, joined to my desire to stay with poor Revitts, Hallett wished me to bear his sister company.

Our patient was on the whole very quiet, but at times he moved his head to and fro and talked loudly, much being unintelligible, but I saw Linny’s countenance change several times as she heard him threaten the man he looked upon as an enemy.

“Can I do anything for you?” said Linny to him on one occasion, as he tried to raise himself upon his arm and stared at her wildly.

“’Taint as if I’d got my staff out to him, you know,” he said in a whisper. “He’s a coward, that’s what he is, and I shall know him again, and if I do come acrost him – ah!”

Linny shrank away, with her eyes looking wild and strange, so that I thought she was frightened by his words, and I interposed and put my arm under the poor fellow’s head.

“Lie down, Bill,” I said. “Does your head hurt you?”

“I don’t mind about my head,” he muttered, “but such a coward; treat a little bit of a girl like that. Where’s my notebook? Here, it’s time I went. Where’s that boy?” he cried angrily; “I know what London is. I won’t have him stop out of a night.”

He sank back exhausted, and as I turned from him to speak to Linny, I saw that she was in tears.

“He frightens you,” I said; “but you needn’t be afraid.”

“Oh no! I’m not,” she cried; “it’s only because I’m low and nervous. I shall be better soon.”

The surgeon came twice that day, and said the case was serious, but that there was no cause for alarm.

“He gives no clue, I suppose, to who struck him, my boy?” he said.

“No, sir,” I replied; “he talks about some man, and says he would know him again.”

“The police are trying hard to find out how it was. If they could find the girl it would be easy.”

I was just going to say, “Here she is, sir!” when I happened to glance at Linny, who was pale as ashes, and stood holding up her hand to me to be silent.

This confused me so that I hardly understood what the surgeon said, only that he wanted a stronger and more mature person to attend to Revitts; but when I told him that the landlady came up to help he was satisfied, and left, saying that he should come in again. He was no sooner gone than Linny caught me by the arm.

“Oh, what an escape!” she cried; “Antony, you know how wilful and cruel I have been to poor Steve?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding my head.

“And you know how I have promised him that I will always do as he wishes?”

“Yes, I know that too,” I said; “and I hope you will.”

“I will – indeed I will, Antony,” she wailed; “but please promise me, pray promise me, that no one shall ever know besides us that it was I whom Mr Revitts here – a – protected.”

“But the wretch of a fellow who behaved so badly to you, and beat poor Revitts like this, ought to be punished.”

“No, no – no, no?” she cried excitedly; “let it all pass now, Antony – dear Antony, for my sake.”

“I like you, Linny,” I said; “but I like dear old Revitts, too. He has been the best of friends to me, and I don’t see why a friend of yours should escape after serving him like this.”

“He – he is not a friend of mine now,” she said, half hysterically; “but, dear Antony, I could not bear for him to be punished. It was in a fit of passion. I had made him angry first. Please, please don’t say any more – I cannot bear it!”

She sank down on the hearth-rug, covering her face with her hands and sobbing bitterly, while I felt, boy-like, powerless to say anything to comfort her, till I exclaimed:

“Well, I won’t tell or say anything I know, Linny, if you will keep your word to Stephen.”

“I will – indeed I will, dear Antony,” she cried, starting up and catching both my hands. “I was very, very foolish, but I know better now, and it – it – it is all past.”

She said those last words in such a piteous, despairing way, looking so heart-broken, that my sympathies were now all on her side, and I promised her again that I would not tell Revitts or the police that she was the girl who had been in question. I repented of my promise later on, but at my time of life it was not likely that I should know how ready a woman who loves is to forgive the lapses of him who has won her heart, and of course I could not foresee the complications that would arise.

The surgeon came again, as he had promised, and after the examination of the patient, ordered some ice to be obtained to apply to his head, and directly he had gone I started off to fetch it, thinking as I did so that Hallett would soon be with us.

I was not long in getting a lump of bright, cold, clear ice, and on hurrying back, I heard voices in the room, when, to my surprise and delight, there stood Mary, but looking anything but pleased. She had thrown a large bundle on the floor, her large Paisley shawl across the foot of the bed, her umbrella on the table, and a basket crammed full of something or another was on a chair.

As for Mary herself, she was standing, very red in the face, her arms akimbo, her bonnet awry, and a fierce angry look in her eyes, before poor Linny, who was shrinking away from her, evidently in no little alarm.

“Oh, Antony?” she cried, “I’m so glad you’ve come! Who is this woman?”

“Who’s this woman, indeed!” cried Mary, now boiling over in her wrath; “‘this woman’ indeed! Perhaps you’ll tell her that I’m a poor deceived, foolish, trusting creature, who left her place at a moment’s notice to come and nuss him, and then find as I ain’t wanted, and that he’s already got his fine doll of a madam to wait on him.”

“Oh, Mary!” I cried; “you dear foolish old thing!”

“Yes, of course, that’s what I said I was, Master Antony, and even you turn agen me. But I might have known that such a fellow as William Revitts would have half-a-dozen fine madams ready to marry him.”

This was accompanied by pantings, and snorts, and little stamps of the foot, and a general look about poor Mary as if she were going to pull off her bonnet, jump upon it, and tear down her hair.

“Oh, you foolish old thing!” I cried, flying at her and literally hugging her in my delight at seeing her so soon, in the midst of my trouble.

“Be quiet, Master Antony,” she cried wrathfully, but throwing one arm round me as she spoke, in reply to my embrace. “But I won’t stand it, that I won’t.”

“But, my good woman,” faltered Linny.

“Don’t you ‘good woman’ me, slut!” cried Mary furiously. “I was going to give up and let you nurse him and till him, for aught I cared, but I won’t now. He’s engaged to me these four years, and he’s mine, and this is my place and room, and out you go, and the sooner the better; and – as for B – B – B – Bill – do take your hand from before my mouth, Master Antony! You’re a boy and don’t understand things. Now, then, madam, you pack!”

“Mary, be quiet!” I cried; “this is Mr Hallett’s sister, who kindly came to help nurse poor Bill till you could come. Bill does not know her; he never saw her before, but once.”

“Only once?” said Mary suspiciously.

“No, and then only for a minute. How could you be so foolish?”

“Because – because – because – ” said Mary, bursting out into a passion of sobbing, “because my heart was half broke about my boy, and I only stopped to pack up a bundle and came – and then – when I found that pretty darling here, I – I – oh, my dear – my dear – my dear!” she cried, flinging herself on her knees at Linny’s feet, clutching her dress, and burying her wet face in the folds; “please – please – please forgive me, and don’t take no notice of my mad, foolish words. I’ve – I’ve – I’ve got such a temper! It’s a curse to me – and I was nearly distracted. Some day, p’r’aps, you’ll feel as bad and jealous as I did. Please – please forgive me!”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” cried Linny, whose tears now began to flow, and who, kneeling down in turn, drew poor Mary’s face to her breast, and the two remained thus, while I went and looked out of the window.

“Please – pray – forgive me!” sobbed Mary.

“Oh yes, yes, I do, indeed!” whispered Linny. “Antony is right; I never saw Mr Revitts but once, and I believe he is a very good man, and loves you dearly.”

“That he is, and that he does,” cried Mary, raising her red face, and throwing back her hair. “Though I don’t know why he should care for such a crooked-tempered, rough-tongued thing as I am.”

I thought I could understand why, as I saw Mary’s lit-up face, with her bonnet fallen back, and in spite of her distress looking quite as handsome as she was warm-hearted.

“But you do forgive me, dear?” she faltered, kissing Linny’s hands again and again.

“Forgive you?” cried Linny, kissing her ruddy cheek, “of course I do; you couldn’t help making the mistake.”

And, as if feeling that she was the cause of the trouble, Linny gave her such a look of tender sympathy that poor Mary was obliged to crouch down quite low on the floor again, and hug herself tight, and rock to and fro.

Immediately after, though, she was hastily wiping her eyes on the silken strings of her bonnet, which she tore off and sent flying to the other end of the room before dashing at me and giving me a hug, and then going down on her knees by Revitts’ pillow, and laying her cheek against his bandaged forehead.

“My poor old boy,” she whispered softly, “as if I could stay a minute from him!”

The next moment she was up, and giving a great gulp, as if to swallow down the emotion caused by Revitts’ appearance, she forced a smile upon her face, completely transforming it, and quickly but quietly dashed at her basket.

“I hadn’t time to do much, my dears,” she said to Linny and me collectively: “but I thought a pair o’ soles and a chicken must be right for the poor boy. Now, if you’ll only tell me where he keeps his pepper and salt, and the frying-pan and saucepans, I can get on. My sakes, poor boy, what a muddle he did live in, to be sure!”

We had to stop Mary in her culinary preparations by assuring her that the doctor had ordered only beef-tea.

“Then he may have chicken-broth, my dears,” she said; “I’m an old nuss, you know, though I wouldn’t attend to Mr Blakeford – eh, Master Antony? – for fear I should give him his lotion for outward application inside. But I can nuss, and not a step do I stir from this floor till I’ve made my poor old Bill well. Oh, if I only knew who done it!” she cried, with a flash of fierce rage; and as she glanced at Linny, the latter shrank away guiltily. Mary read her action wrongly, and plumped herself once more at the poor girl’s feet.

“Don’t you mind me, my dear!” she cried kissing her hands and her dress. “I’m a stupid, rough, jealous thing, and I was all on fire then, but I’m not now, and I humbly ask your pardon; as I says, God bless you, for coming to help my poor dear boy!”

There was another burst of sobbing here, and another embrace, when Mary jumped up again, all smiles, to apply a little fresh ice to the patient’s head, and gently coo over him, as if he were a baby.

After which, and having satisfied herself that the chicken-broth was progressing favourably, poor Mary felt it her duty to plump at Linny’s feet again, but she jumped up in confusion, as she heard the stairs crack as if some one were coming, and then she looked inquiringly at me, as the door softly opened and Hallett came in.

“Mr Hallett,” I said, “this is my dear old Mary, Mr Revitts’ friend, and she’s come up to nurse him. Mary, this is Miss Hallett’s brother.”

“Which I’m glad to see him,” said Mary, making a bob, and then growing redder in the face as she glanced at Linny, as if afraid that her late ebullition would be exposed.

“And I’m very glad to see you, Mary,” said Hallett, smiling and holding out his hand, which Mary took after interposing her clean pocket handkerchief, on the score that she had been cooking. “Antony often talked to me about you.”

“Have he, though?” said Mary, darting a gratified look at me.

“Often, of your great kindness to him. Your coming has helped us out of a great difficulty.”

“And your dear sister’s coming’s put my heart at rest, for I didn’t know, sir, what gin-drinking wretches might be neglecting my poor boy.”

“And how is the patient?” said Hallett, going to the bedside.

“The doctor says he is going on all right,” I replied.

“Is he a good doctor?” said Mary sharply.

“He is certain to be an eminent man,” said Hallett quietly; and his words partially pacified Mary.

“Because if he ain’t,” said Mary, “money shan’t stand in the way of his having the best in London.”