died when I lost my
boy.'

'God grant I may kindle that hope into life once more,' Humphrey said, in a
voice of restrained emotion, and not daring to trust himself to say another
word, he bent his knee again before Mary, took the long, slender hands
which hung listlessly at her side, and bowing his head for a moment over
them, Humphrey Ratcliffe was gone!

Mary neither spoke nor moved, and when Goody Pearse came with a bowl of
milk and bread she found her in a deadly swoon, from which it was hard to
recall her. Mistress Forrester came at the old woman's call, and burnt
feathers under Mary's nose, and, with a somewhat ruthless hand, dashed cold
water over her pale, wan face, calling her loudly by name; and, when at
last she recovered, she scolded her for attempting to come downstairs, and
said she had no patience with sick folk giving double trouble by wilful
ways. Better things were expected of grown women than to behave like
children, with a great deal more to the same purpose, which seemed to have
no effect on Mary, who lay with large wistful eyes gazing out at the open
door through which Humphrey had passed--large tearless eyes looking in
vain for her boy, who would never gladden them again!

'The light of mine eyes!' she whispered; 'the light of mine eyes!'

'Shut the door,' Mistress Forrester said to her serving-maid, Avice, who
stood with her large, red arms folded, looking with awe at the pallid face
before her. 'She calls out that the light dazes her; methinks she must be
got back to bed, and kept there.'

The heavy wooden door was closed, and but a subdued light came in through
the small diamond panes of thick, greenish glass which filled the lattice.
Presently the large weary eyes closed, and with a gentle sigh, she said,--

'I am tired; let me sleep, if sleep will come.'

The business of the poultry-yard and dairy were far too important to be
further neglected, and Mistress Forrester, sharply calling Avice to mind
her work, nor stand gaping there like a gander on a common, left Goody
Pearse with her patient.

The old crone did her best, though that best was poor.

Nursing in the days of Queen Elizabeth was of a very rough and ready
character, and even in high circles, there was often gross ignorance
displayed in the treatment of the sick.

The village nurse had her own nostrums and lotions, and the country
apothecary, or leech as he was called, who led very often a nomadic life,
taking rounds in ce