Cruden's
seizure, waited till she was assured 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 passed 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 snatched 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 assuredly, they said, he would have been at his
mother's side at the first breath of danger.

Mrs Shuckleford only, as day passed 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