ds. Georgy, my dear, bless you.'

She gave me an affectionate kiss, under more excitement than I had ever
seen her, and fluttered into an inner room, just as the stage rolled by
the door; to be saluted by a burst of sobs, and a strange muffled voice
asking, hardly intelligibly, 'Wasn't that the coach, mother?'

'Yes, dear.'

'Then he's gone, mother; George is gone, and he'll never come back--do
you think he ever will? I treated him so badly; I have been so hateful
to him you don't know, even when he nearly drowned saving Rover's life.'

'Poor Rover! he wants to come in and see you.'

'Don't let him in, don't you, mother; I hate the sight of him, ugly,
awkward fellow! he nearly drowned poor George, yesterday, and I never
can bear to see him again now George is gone; beside, I believe I only
loved Rover to plague poor George. Oh! oh, I feel so dreadfully, mother;
do you think I'm going to die?'

'Not just yet, my dear. Shall I send for the doctor?'

'No, ma'am, I don't want any doctor. I had as lief die as not, I'm so
miserable; beside, if I hadn't, Dr. Coachey would kill me, poking and
preaching over me. Oh, if George was only here!'

'George _is_ here, Dora.'

'Oh, is he really?' and she cried harder than ever. 'Well, I can't see
him, mother;' after a pause: 'Does he want to see me?'

'No, I sent for him professionally. I can tell him to go away.'

'No, wait a minute, mother; do I look so _very_ badly? Please make the
room darker; oh, I don't want to see him at all! I'm ashamed to see him,
but I will. I must beg his pardon for all my wickedness, before I get
worse, or he poisons me with his dreadful drugs; he hasn't had a patient
yet, and he'll be glad of the chance to practise on me, I know; he will
dose me with everything. And, mother, if George is coming in, please
turn in Rover.'

Quietly laughing, my aunt came out and ushered me with due ceremony
beyond the door, and shut it after her. In a darkened chamber, dim and
dismal, before a lowly, slowly smouldering fire, in a great stuffed
chair of state, sat poor little Dora, swathed in blankets, and muffled
in shawls. Her tiny feet were wrapped in a woollen bundle, and rested on
hot bricks, and her aching head was tied up in red flannel bandages that
smelled of brandy; she had a mustard plaster on her chest, a cayenne
pepper 'gargle' for her throat, and a cup of hot ginger tea stood at her
elbow; her pretty nose was swollen out of shape, her bright eyes wer