LITMIR.BIZ

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Evans was considering him in silence, and he turned a little more toward the fire, and poked it, as he fancied a groom would poke a fire for his private comfort.

      "Are you servant to the ladies?" at last she asked.

      Tom smiled at the generality of the question, but interpreting in good faith —

      "No," said he, "I came with the carriage."

      "Servant to the gentleman?" she asked.

      "What gentleman?"

      "You know well."

      Tom had not an idea, but could not well say so. He therefore poked the fire again, and said, "Go on, miss; I'm listening."

      She did not go on, however, for some time, and then it was to say —

      "My name is Anne Evans. What may your name be?"

      "Can't tell that. I left my name at home," said Tom, mysteriously.

      "Won't tell?"

      "Can't."

      "I'm only by the month. Come in just a week to-morrow," observed Anne Evans.

      "They'll not part with you in a month, Miss Evans. No; they has some taste and feelin' among them. I wouldn't wonder if you was here for ever!" said Tom, with enthusiasm; "and what's this place, miss – this house I mean – whose house is it?"

      "Can't say, only I hear it's bought for a brewery, to be took down next year."

      "Oh, criky!" said Tom; "that's a pity."

      There was a short pause.

      "I saw you 'ide your 'at," said Anne Evans.

      "Not 'ide it," said Tom; "only sits on it – always sits on my 'at."

      Tom produced it, let it bounce up like a jack-in-a-box, and shut it down again.

      Miss Evans was neither amused nor surprised.

      "Them's hopera 'ats – first quality – they used to come in boxes on 'em, as long as from here to you, when I was at Mr. Potterton's, the hatter. Them's for gents – they air – and not for servants."

      "The gov'nor gives me his old uns," said Tom, producing the best fib he could find.

      "And them French boots," she added, meditatively.

      "Perquisite likewise," said Tom.

      Miss Anne Evans closed her eyes, and seemed disposed to take a short nap in her chair. But on a sudden she opened them to say —

      "I think you're the gentleman himself."

      "The old gentleman?" said Tom.

      "No. The young un."

      "I'm jest what I tell you, not objectin' to the compliment all the same," said Tom.

      "And a ring on your finger?"

      "A ring on my finger – yes. I wear it two days in the week. My grand-uncle's ring, who was a gentleman, being skipper of a coal brig."

      "What's the lady's name?"

      "Can't tell, Miss Evans; dussn't."

      "Fuss about nothin'!" said she, and closed her eyes again, and opened them in a minute more, to add, "but I think you're him, and that's my belief."

      "No, I ain't miss, as you'll see, by-and-by."

      "Tisn't nothin' to me, only people is so close."

      The door opened, and a tall woman in black, with a black net cap on, came quietly but quickly into the room.

      "You're the man?" said she, with an air of authority, fixing her eyes askance on Tom.

      "Yes 'm, please."

      "Well, you don't go on no account, for you'll be wanted just now."

      "No, ma'am."

      "Where's the box and bag you're in charge of?"

      "Out here," said Tom.

      "Hish, man, quiet; don't you know there's sickness? Walk easy, can't you? please, consider."

      Tom followed her almost on tip-toe to the spot where the parcels lay.

      "Gently now; into this room, please," and she led the way into that sitting-room into which Tom Sedley had looked some little time since, from the stair-head.

      The beautiful young lady was gone, but Miss Sheckleton was standing at the further door of the room with her hands clasped, and her eyes raised in prayer, and her pale cheeks wet with tears.

      Hearing the noise, she gently closed the door, and hastily drying her eyes, whispered, "Set them down there," pointing to a sofa, on which Tom placed them accordingly. "Thanks – that will do. You may go."

      When Sedley had closed the door —

      "Oh, Mrs. Graver," whispered Anne Sheckleton, clasping her wrists in her trembling fingers, "is she very ill?"

      "Well, ma'am, she is ill."

      "But, oh, my God, you don't think we are going to lose her?" she whispered wildly, with her imploring gaze in the nurse's eyes.

      "Oh, no, please God, ma'am, it will all be right. You must not fuss yourself, ma'am. You must not let her see you like this, on no account."

      "Shall I send for him now?"

      "No, ma'am; he'd only be in the way. I'll tell you when; and his man's here, ready to go, any minute. I must go back to her now, ma'am. Hish!"

      And Mrs. Graver disappeared with a little rustle of her dress, and no sound of steps. That solemn bird floated very noiselessly round sick beds, and you only heard, as it were, the hovering of her wings.

      And then, in a minute more, in glided Miss Sheckleton, having dried her eyes very carefully.

      And now came a great knocking at the hall door, echoing dully through the house. It was Doctor Grimshaw, who had just got his coat off, and was winding his watch, when he was called from his own bed-side by this summons, and so was here after a long day's work, to make a new start, and await the dawn in this chamber of pain.

      In he came, and Miss Sheckleton felt that light and hope entered the room with him. Florid, portly, genial, with a light, hopeful step, and a good, decided, cheery manner, he inspired confidence, and seemed to take command, not only of the case, but of the ailment itself.

      Miss Sheckleton knew this good doctor, and gladly shook his hand; and he recognised her with a hesitating look that seemed to ask a question, but was not meant to do so, and he spoke cheerfully to the patient, and gave his directions to the nurse, and in about half an hour more told good Anne Sheckleton that she had better leave the patient.

      So, with the docility which an able physician inspires, good Anne Sheckleton obeyed, and in the next room – sometimes praying, sometimes standing and listening, sometimes wandering from point to point, in the merest restlessness – she waited and watched for more than an hour, which seemed to her longer than a whole night, and at last tapped very gently at the door, a lull having come for a time in the sick chamber, and unable longer to endure her suspense.

      A little bit of the door was opened, and Anne Sheckleton saw the side of Mrs. Graver's straight nose, and one of her wrinkled eyes, and her grim mouth.

      "How is she?" whispered Miss Sheckleton, feeling as if she was herself about to die.

      "Pretty well, ma'am," answered the nurse, but with an awful look of insincerity, under which the old lady's heart sank down and down, as if it had foundered.

      "One word to Dr. Grimshaw," she whispered, with white lips.

      "You can't, ma'am," murmured the nurse, sternly, and about to shut the door in her face.

      "Wait, wait," whispered the voice of kind old Doctor Grimshaw, and he came into the next room to Miss Sheckleton, closing the door after him.

      "Oh, doctor!" she gasped.

      "Well, Miss Sheckleton, I hope she'll do very well; I've just given her something – a slight stimulant – and I've every confidence everything will

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