the grounds.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Old Hannah's fears were needless, for the delirium passed away; and as
the days glided by and poor Grange lay in his darkened bedroom,
untiringly watched by old Tummus's patient wife, James Ellis used to
take the tidings home till the day when in secret Mary went up
afterwards to her own room to sink upon her knees by her bedside, and
hide her burning face in her hands, as if guiltily, while she offered up
her prayer and thanksgiving for all that she had heard.

For the doctor had definitely said that John Grange would not die from
the effects of his fall.

"Thank you, Tummus, old man," said the patient, one evening about a
fortnight after the accident; and he took a bunch of roses in his hand.
"I can't see them, but they smell deliciously. Hah! How it makes me
long to be back again among the dear old flowers."

"Aye, to be sure, my lad. You mun mak' haste and get well and get out
to us again. Dan Barnett arn't half the man you are among the missus's
orchardses. And look here, I want my old woman home again. You mun
look sharp and get well."

"Yes: I hope the doctor will soon let me get up. God bless you, Hannah!
You've been quite like a mother to me."

"Nonsense, nonsense, boy; only a bit o' nussing. Make haste and get
well again."

"Aye, she'd be a good nuss if she warn't quite so fond o' mustard," said
old Tummus. "It's allus mustard, mustard, stuck about you to pingle and
sting if there's owt the matter. I like my mustard on my beef. And
that's what you want, Master John--some good slices o' beef. They
women's never happy wi'out giving you spoon meat."

"Hold your tongue, Tummus, and don't talk so much nonsense," said his
wife.

"Nay, I arn't going to be choked. I s'pose Mrs Mostyn sends you
jellies and chicken-broth, and the like?"

"Yes, every one is very kind," said Grange. "But look here, have you
seen to the mushroom bed?"

"Aye."

"And those cuttings in the frames?"

"You mak' haste and get well, Master John, and don't you worry about
nowt. I'm seeing to everything quite proper, for I don't trust Master
Dan Barnett a bit. He's thinking too much o' finding scuses to go up to
the cottage, and I know why. There, good-night. Get well, lad. I do
want to see that bandage from over your eyes next time I come. Old
Dunton's mortal bad, they say. Good-night."

It was a bad night for John Grange, who was so feverish that the doctor
remarked upon