rtain districts, and visiting at intervals lonely
homesteads and hamlets, was obliged, and perhaps content, to leave his
patient to her care, and very often her treatment was as likely to be
beneficial as his own.

Goody Pearse, to do her justice, had that great requisite for a nurse, in
every age and time--a kind heart.

She felt very sorry for Mary, and, when Mistress Forrester was gone, she
crooned over her, and smoothed the pillow at her head, and then proceeded
to examine her foot, and bind it up afresh in rags steeped in one of her
own lotions.

The doctor had ordered potations of wine for Mary, and Mistress Forrester
had produced a bottle of sack from her stores, a mugful of which Goody
Pearse now held to Mary's pale lips.

'I only want quiet,' she said, in a low, pathetic voice; 'quiet, and, if
God please, sleep.'

'And this will help it, dear heart,' the old woman said. 'Sup it up, like a
good child, for, Heaven help you, you are young enow.'

Mary smiled faintly.

'Young! nay; was I ever young and glad?'

'Yes, my dearie, and you'll be young and glad again afore long. There! you
are better already, and Ned shall carry you up again when there's peace and
quiet.'

It was evening, and Mary Gifford had been laid again on her own bed, when
quick footsteps were heard before the house, and Lucy's voice,--

'How fares it with Mary?'

Goody Pearse was on the watch at the casement above, and called out,--

'Come up and see for yourself, Lucy Forrester.'

Lucy was up the crooked, uneven stairs in a moment, and Mary, stretching
out her arms, said,--

'Oh! Lucy, Lucy.'

The two sisters were locked in a long embrace.

'I am sorry you are fetched back from all your pleasures, little sister,'
Mary said at last.

'Nay, I am glad to come. I have had a taste of happiness, and it will last
till you are well, and we both go away from here, and the boy is found--for
he will be found--Humphrey Ratcliffe will scour the world ere he gives up
finding him, and Mr Sidney has granted him leave to go whither he lists, to
get hold of that wicked man with his horrible, cruel, black eyes. How I
hate him!'

'Do not speak of him,' Mary said, shuddering; 'do not speak of him,' and
she put her hand to her side, as if the very mention of him sent a pang
through her heart. 'Let me look at you, Lucy,' she said presently. 'Turn
your face to the light that I may scan it. Ah!' she said, 'still my little,
innocent sister, and wit