Bruff's face expanded into a grin.

"Why, it aren't," he cried holding out the cinder; "it's a puss o'

money."

"No, no," sighed Martha, "that isn't the one."

"That it is," cried Bruff, st.u.r.dily. "I'm sure on it. Look 'Liza."

The ap.r.o.n was slowly drawn away from the girl's white face and she fixed her eyes on the hollow cinder, but full of doubt.

"It is. Hark!" cried Bruff, and he shook the cinder close to Eliza's ear. "Can't you hear?"

"It does tinkle," she said. "But are you sure that's the one?"

"Of course I am, and it's a sign as he'll get well again, and be rich and happy."

"No, no; that isn't the one, that isn't the one," sobbed Martha.

"Tell you it is," cried Bruff so fiercely that the cook doubtingly took the piece of cinder, shook it, and by degrees a smile spread over her countenance and she rose and put the sc.r.a.p on the chimney-piece between two bright bra.s.s candlesticks.

"For luck," she said; and this time she wiped her eyes dry and examined a saucepan of beef tea which she had stewed down. "In case it's wanted," she said confidentially, though there was not the slightest likelihood thereof for some time to come.

"Well," said Bruff at last, "I suppose I had better go out to work."

But he only looked out of the kitchen window at the garden and shook his head.

"Don't seem to hev no 'art in it," he said, looking from one to the other, as if this were quite a new condition for him to be in. "Seems to miss him so, and look wheer you will theer's a something as puts you in mind of him. Well, all I says is this, and both of you may hear it, only let him get well and he may do any mortal thing in my garden, and I won't complain."

Bruff took up his mug, looked inside it, and set it down again with a frown.

"My missus is coming up to see if she can do owt for you 's afternoon."

"Ah!" sighed cook, "you never know what neighbours is till you're in trouble, 'Liza."

"No."

"Go up, soft like, and ask missus if I may send her a cup o' tea."

"No," said Eliza, decisively; "pour one out and I'll take it up. And I say, dear, you know what a one master is for it; why don't you send him up the little covered basin o' beef tea. There, I'll go and put a napkin over a tray."

Perhaps it was due to being called "dear," perhaps to the fact there was an outlet for the strong beef tea she had so carefully prepared; at any rate Martha smiled and went to the cupboard for the pepper, and then to the salt-box, to season the beef tea according to her taste.

Five minutes later the tray was borne up with the herbaceous and the flesh tea, and in addition some freshly-made crisp brown toast.

The refreshments were most welcome, for both the doctor and Aunt Hannah were exhausted and faint, and as soon as they were alone again, and Eliza gone down with the last bulletin, Aunt Hannah shed a few tears.

"So sympathetic and thoughtful of the servants, dear," she said.

The doctor nodded, and then as he dipped the dry toast in the beef tea he thought to himself that Vane had somehow managed to make himself a friend everywhere.

But an enemy, too, he thought directly after, and he set himself to try and think out who it could be--an occupation stopped by messengers from the rectory, Gilmore, Distin and Macey having arrived to ask how the patient was getting on. While on their way back, they met Bates, the constable, looking very solemn as he saluted them and went on, thinking a great deal, but waiting until Vane recovered his senses before proceeding to act.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

VANE RECOLLECTS.

"Hah, that's better," said the doctor one fine morning, "feel stronger, don't you?"

"Oh yes, uncle," said Vane rather faintly, "only my head feels weak and strange, and as if I couldn't think."

"Then don't try," said the doctor, and for another day or two Vane was kept quiet.

But all the time there was a curious mental effervescence going on as the lad lay in bed, the object of every one's care; and until he could clearly understand why he was there, there was a constant strain and worry connected with his thoughts.

"Give him time," the doctor used to say to Aunt Hannah, "and have confidence in his medical man. When nature has strengthened him enough his mind will be quite clear."

"But are you sure, dear?" said Aunt Hannah piteously; "it would be so sad if the poor fellow did not quite recover his memory."

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the doctor, "this comes of having some one you know by heart for medical attendant. You wouldn't have asked Doctor White or Doctor Black such a question as that."

"It is only from anxiety, my dear," said Aunt Hannah; "I have perfect confidence in you. It is wonderful how he is improved."

Just then two visitors arrived in the shape of Gilmore and Macey.

They had come to make inquiries on account of the rector, they said; and on hearing the doctor's report, Macey put in a pet.i.tion on his own account.

"Let you go up and sit with him a bit?" said the doctor. "Well, I hardly know what to say. He knows us now; but will you promise to be very quiet?"

"Oh, of course, sir," cried Macey.

"I can't let two go up," said the doctor.

Macey looked at Gilmore.

"I'll give way if you'll promise to let me have first turn next time."

"Agreed," said Macey; and Gilmore went off back to give the doctor's report to the rector, while Macey was led upstairs gently by Aunt Hannah, and after again promising to be very quiet, let into Vane's room, and the door closed behind him.

Vane was lying, gazing drowsily at the window, but the closing of the door made him turn his eyes toward the new comer, when his face lit up directly.

"What, Aleck!" he said faintly.

"What, old Weatherc.o.c.k!" cried Macey, running to the bed. "Oh, I say, old chap, it does one good to see you better, I say you're going to be quite well now, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am better. But have they caught them?"

"Eh? Caught what?"