was too unwell to
see anybody, but that she would speak a few words to Virginia, and leave
Sir James to settle the rest with my mother. Virginia came down to her
mother, declared that Lady O'Connor was a very ladylike elegant person,
and that she should wish to take the situation. The terms were
handsome, and my mother, although she regretted not seeing her ladyship,
was satisfied, and Virginia was to come in two days afterwards, which
she did. Thus was my sister comfortably settled, and after remaining
two days I took my leave of Sir James and Lady O'Connor, intending to
return to Deal, when I received a letter from Peter Anderson, informing
me that old Nanny had been suddenly taken very ill, and that Doctor
Tadpole did not think it possible that she would survive more than
twenty-four hours; that she was very anxious to see me, and that he
hoped I would come up immediately.

I showed the letter to Lady O'Connor, who said, "You will go, of course,
Tom."

"Immediately," replied I, "and the more so as this letter is dated three
days back; how it has been delayed I do not know. Farewell, Lady
O'Connor; and farewell, dearest Virginia. Old Nanny, as you both know,
has many claims upon my gratitude."

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

MY FATHER, MUCH TO HIS SURPRISE, HAS A BIT OF LAND TO PUT HIS FOOT UPON,
AND SAY, "THIS IS MY OWN."

"You're too late, Tom," said Ben the Whaler, as I jumped down from off
the basket of the coach; "the old woman died last night."

"I'm sorry for it, Ben," replied I, "as she wished so much to see me;
but I did not receive Anderson's letter till this morning, and I could
not get here sooner."

This intelligence induced me to direct my course to the hospital, where
I had no doubt that I should find old Anderson, and obtain every
information. I met him as he was walking towards the bench on the
terrace facing the river, where he usually was seated when the weather
was fine. "Well, Tom," said he, "I expected you, and did hope that you
would have been here sooner. Come, sit down here, and I will give you
the information which I know you have most at your heart. The old woman
made a very happy end. I was with her till she died. She left many
kind wishes for you, and I think her only regret was that she did not
see you before she was called away."

"Poor old Nanny! she had suffered much."

"Yes, and there are great excuses to be made for her; and as we feel so
here, surely there will be i