"You are very kind. It is a sad trial to be separated from my boy, but I've not given up hopes of seeing him back soon."

Mrs Shuckleford shook her head.

"'Ow you must suffer on 'is account," said she. "If your 'eart don't break with it, it must be made of tougher stuff than mine."

"But after all, Mrs Shuckleford," said Mrs Cruden, "there are worse troubles in this life than separation."

"You're right. Oh, I'm so sorry for you."

"Why for me? I have only the lighter sorrow."

"Oh, Mrs Cruden, do you call a wicked son a light sorrow?"

"Certainly not, but my sons, thank G.o.d, are good, brave boys, both of them."

"And who told you 'e was a good, brave boy? Reggie, I mean."

"Who told me?" said Mrs Cruden, with surprise. "Who told me he was anything else?"

"Oh, Mrs Cruden! Oh, Mrs Cruden!" said Mrs Shuckleford, beginning to cry.

Mrs Cruden at last began to grow uneasy and alarmed. She sat up on the sofa, and said, in an agitated voice,--

"What _do_ you mean, Mrs Shuckleford? Has anything happened? Is there any bad news about Reginald?"

"Oh, Mrs Cruden, I made sure you knew all about it."

"What is it?" cried Mrs Cruden, now thoroughly terrified and trembling all over. "Has anything happened to him? Is he--dead?" and she seized her visitor's hand as she asked the question.

"No, Mrs Cruden, not dead. Maybe it would be better for 'im if he was."

"Better if he was dead? Oh, please, have pity and tell me what you mean!" cried the poor mother, dropping back on to the sofa with a face as white as a sheet.

"Come, don't take on," said Mrs Shuckleford, greatly disconcerted to see the effect of her delicate breaking of the news. "Perhaps it's not as bad as it seems."

"Oh, what is it? what is it? I can't bear this suspense. Why don't you tell me?" and she trembled so violently and looked so deadly pale that Mrs Shuckleford began to get alarmed.

"There, there," said she soothingly; "I'll tell you another time.

You're not equal to it now. I'll come in to-morrow, or the next day, when you've had a good night's rest, poor dear."

"For pity's sake tell me all now!" gasped Mrs Cruden; "unless you want to kill me."

It dawned at last on the well-meaning Mrs Shuckleford that no good was being done by prolonging her neighbour's suspense any further.

"Well, well! It's only that I'm afraid he's been doing something-- well--dreadful. Oh, Mrs Cruden, how sorry I am for you!"

Mrs Cruden lay motionless, like one who had received a stab.

"What has he done?" she whispered slowly.

"I don't know, dear--really I don't," said Mrs Shuckleford, beginning to whimper at the sight of the desolation she had caused. "It was Sam, my son, told me--he wouldn't say what it was--and I 'ope you won't let 'im know it was me you 'eard it from, Mrs Cruden, for he'd be very-- Mercy on us!"

Mrs Cruden had fainted.

Help was summoned, and she was carried to her bed. When Horace arrived shortly afterwards he found her still unconscious, with Mrs Shuckleford bathing her forehead, and tending her most gently.

"You had better run for a doctor, 'Orace," whispered she, as the scared boy entered the room.

"What is the matter? What has happened?" gasped he.

"Poor dear, she's broken down--she's-- But go quick for the doctor, 'Orace."

Horace went as fast as his fleet feet would carry him. The doctor p.r.o.nounced Mrs Cruden to be in a state of high fever, produced by nervous prostration and poor living. He advised Horace, if possible, to get a nurse to tend her while the fever lasted, especially as she would probably awake from her swoon delirious, and would for several days remain in a very critical condition.

In less than five minutes Horace was at Miss Crisp's, imploring her a.s.sistance. The warm-hearted little lady undertook the duty without a moment's hesitation, and from that night, and for a fortnight to come, hardly quitted her friend's bedside.

Mrs Shuckleford, deeming it prudent not to refer again to the unpleasant subject which had been the immediate cause of Mrs Cruden's seizure, waited till she was a.s.sured that at present she could be of no further use, and then withdrew, full of sympathy and commiseration, which she manifested in all sorts of womanly ways during her neighbour's illness. Not a day pa.s.sed but she called in, morning and afternoon, to inquire after the patient, generally the bearer of some home-made delicacy, and sometimes to take her post by the sick bed while Miss Crisp s.n.a.t.c.hed an hour or so of well-earned repose.

As for Horace, he could hardly be persuaded to leave the sick chamber.

But the stern necessity of work, greater than ever now at this time of special emergency, compelled him to take the rest necessary for his own health and daily duties. With an effort he dragged himself to the office every morning, and like an arrow he returned from it every evening, and often paid a flying visit at midday. His good-natured companions voluntarily relieved him of all late work, and, indeed, every one who had in the least degree come into contact with the gentle patient seemed to vie in showing sympathy and offering help.

Young Gedge was amongst the most eager of the inquirers at the house.

He squandered shillings in flowers and grapes, and sometimes even ran the risk of disgrace at the _Rocket_ by lingering outside the house during a doctor's visit, in order to hear the latest bulletin before he went back to work.

In his mind, as well as in Horace's, a faint hope had lurked that somehow Reginald might contrive to run up to London for a day or two at least, to cheer the house of watching. Mrs Cruden, in her delirium, often moaned her absent son's name, and called for him, and they believed if only he were to come, her restless troubled mind might cease its wanderings and find rest.

But Reginald neither came nor wrote.

Since Horace, on the first day of her illness, had written, telling him all, no one had heard a word from him.

At last, when after a week Horace wrote again, saying,--

"Come to us, if you love us," and still no letter or message came back, a new cloud of anxiety fell over the house.

Reginald must be ill, or away from Liverpool, or something must have happened to him, or a.s.suredly, they said, he would have been at his mother's side at the first breath of danger.

Mrs Shuckleford only, as day pa.s.sed day, and the prodigal never returned, shook her head and said to herself, it was a blessing no one knew the reason, not even the poor delirious sufferer herself. Poor people! they had trouble enough on them not to need any more just now!

so she kept her own counsel, even from Jemima.

This was the more easy to do because she knew nothing either of Reginald or his doings beyond what her son had hinted, and as Samuel was at present in the country on business, she had no opportunity of prosecuting her inquiries on the subject.

Sam, in fact, whether he liked it or not, happened just now to hold the fortunes of the family of Cruden pretty much in his own hands.

A few days before the conversation with his mother already reported, he had been sitting in his room at the office, his partner and the head clerk both being absent on County Court business.

Samuel felt all the dignity of a commander-in-chief, and was therefore not at all displeased when the office-boy had come and knocked at his door, and said that a lady of the name of Wrigley had called, and wished to see him.

"Show the lady in," said Sam grandly, "and put a chair."