"Who should come in but old Blakeford, and he said gruffly that they couldn't snare me, and, 'Can't spare me!' I says; 'well, you just must, for I'm going.'

"'Then we shan't pay you your wages,' says old Blakeford. 'Then I will make you,' says I, 'So now then. I'm not going to have people die for want of help, to please you.'

"'Who is it then as is dying?' says Mrs Blakeford.

"'It's my sweetheart, mum, if you must know,' I says.

"'Then all I can say is, that it's very indelicate of you, a young unmarried woman, to go up and nurse a single man.'

"'No more indelicate, mum,' I says, 'than for you to want me to nuss Mr Blakeford when he was ill.'

"'But you didn't do it,' she says.

"'No, mum,' I says, 'but you wanted me to, and what's more, if the whole world and his wife come to me and told me it wasn't right for me to go, I should go; so now then.'

"'But when will you come back then, Mary?' says Mrs Blakeford.

"'Not at all, mum,' I says, 'for after going and nursing a single man as is dying for aught I know, I shan't be fit company for the folks in this house. I'm going now directly, mum, and I shall leave my box and send for it and my wages too.'"

Here Mary had another look at the patient and the cooking.

"I wasn't long getting off, I can tell you, and glad enough I was to get away. I'd ha' left long enough ago, only I didn't want to make any more changes till the big one, and there was only one as I minded leaving."

"And that was little Hetty," I said, as I understood her big change to mean her marriage.

"Yes, my dear, you're right--little Hetty; and she came and sobbed and cried ever so, with her dear arms round my neck, till I told her that perhaps I might see you, and asked her if I might take you her love; and she sent it to you, and said she always wore your brooch."

"And is she quite well?" I said, with sparkling eyes.

"Yes, and grows the neatest, prettiest, best girl that ever was. And now, my dear, I'm come to nuss my pore William till he's well, and then--"

"Yes, Mary?" for she had paused.

"I shall get a place somewhere in London; for I shan't go back."

Then, after another look at the patient, she came back to me.

"Could you drink a cup o' tea, dear?" she said.

"Yes, Mary, and you must want something."

"Well, my dear, I do begin to feel a bit faint, for I hadn't only just begun my breakfast when your letter came, and I haven't had nothing since."

The result was that the kettle was soon made to boil, and Mary seemed quite delighted to be pouring out for me and making the toast.

"Lor', my dear, now it do seem like old times!" she cried.

"Only you've grown to look so handsome and well, Mary," I said.

"Do I, my dear? Well, I am glad. Not as I care myself, but some people might. But, Lor', I never looked well down at old Blakeford's. My!

what a row there was because you run away--"

"Was there?" I said with a shudder, half pleasure, half delight.

"Warn't there?" said Mary, who kept running to the bedside at the slightest movement. "Bless your 'art, old Blakeford was nearly mad, and Miss Hetty 'most cried her eyes out, till I told her you'd be happier away, and then she cried 'em out more than ever, for fear her par should catch you. He was out days and days, until his leg got so bad he was really obliged to go to bed. The dog bit him, you know, the night you run away. Then there was the upset before the magistrates, and that Mr Wooster somehow managed to get the day, because master--I mean old Blakeford--hadn't got the right witness. And that made master--I mean old Blakeford--worse. And now I don't think I've any more to tell you, only you ain't half eating your toast. My sakes! it do put me in mind of old times, for it was precious dull when you was gone."

"Were you cross with me for running away, Mary?"

"I was then, for not telling me, but I soon got to think it was quite right."

"I hope it was, Mary," I said; "but did you ever see old Mr Rowle?"

"What, that yellow little man? oh, often; he used to come and talk to me about you, and when I said you was very ungrateful for running away, he used to stick up for you. He didn't come very often, though," continued Mary, correcting herself, "because he couldn't smoke in my kitchen, else I believe he'd have come every night to talk about you."

A slight moan from poor Revitts took Mary to the bedside, and very soon after she insisted upon my lying down and going to sleep a bit, and when I awoke the next morning, Mary was looking as fresh and wakeful as ever.

I don't know to this day how Mary managed, for she never seemed to close an eye, but to be always watching over her "pore boy." When I talked about her going to bed, she only laughed, and said that "a good nuss never wanted no sleep."

"And now, my dear, you've been kep' away from your work," she said; "so, as soon as you've had your breakfast, you be off. I can manage till you come back. I don't hold with neglecting nothing."

She would not hear of opposition, so I left her the field, and went down to the office, where I saw Mr Hallett looking very pale and stern, and soon after I was at my old work, reading to Mr Jabez Rowle, who seemed very glad to see me back, complimenting me on my reading, by saying I was not quite so stupid as my subst.i.tute had been.

When I returned to Caroline Street, I found Mary in consultation with the landlady, who then descended, and, to my great delight, Revitts was, if anything, better.

Mary was very glad to see me back, and began to unfold her plans, to wit, that she had found that the front room was to let furnished, and she had taken it of Mrs Keswick, the landlady; for my use.

"It will be better for all of us, my dear," she said, "so just you hold your tongue."

I sat up late with Mary that night, and the next, and the next, talking about the past and the future, and still she seemed to get no sleep; but she always laughed about it, and declared that she went to sleep with one eye at a time. Be that as it may, a more patient, untiring nurse man never had, and right through poor Revitts' weary state of delirium she was always by his pillow, always smiling and cheerful through the worst crisis, till, one night, when I returned to be met by her on the stairs; and, finger on lips, she led me into the front room, to fall on my neck, and silently sob as if her heart would break.

"Oh, Mary, Mary!" I said, "he's worse; and I thought he seemed so much stronger this morning."

"No, no, dear," she sobbed, "he's better. He opened his eyes this afternoon and knowed me, and said: 'Ah, Mary, old gal, is that you?'"

Poor woman! The pent-up suffering that had been longing to burst forth, and which had all been hidden behind her mask of smiles, had come pouring out, and for the next half-hour Mary sobbed and wept in a quiet way till I was in despair. Then, to my surprise, she got up in a business-like manner, wiped her eyes, and smiled once more.

"There!" she exclaimed, "I'm better now."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

COMING OFF.

With Revitts better there was no occasion for me to stop in of an evening, and as soon as I could I went on to the Halletts', where I was warmly welcomed by the whole family. Mrs Hallett had a string of troubles to tell me, and interspersed with them I had narratives of how different matters used to be.

Linny was very affectionate and kind, but I could see that she looked pale and troubled. Her pretty face lighted up though, whenever her brother spoke, and I noted the air of satisfaction in Hallett's face as he realised how his sister was keeping to her promise.