is, Mrs. Poole reappeared with the jug foaming.

'Oh, indeed! So _that's_ where you are!' she exclaimed with her
vivacious emphasis, looking at the child. 'A nice thing for you to be
nursed at this hour o' night!--Now just one glass, Mr. Grail. It's a
bitter night; just a glass to walk on.'

Gilbert pleased her by drinking what she offered. Ackroyd had
recommenced his uproarious mirthfulness.

'I wish you could persuade your brother to go to the lectures again,
Mrs. Poole,' said Gilbert. 'He misses a great deal.'

'And he'll miss a good deal more,' she replied, 'if he doesn't soon
come to his senses. Nay, it's no good o' me talking! He used to be a
sensible lad--that is, he could be if he liked.'

Gilbert gave his hand for leave-taking.

'I still hope you'll go on Sunday night,' he said seriously.

Ackroyd shook his head again, then tossed the child into the air and
began singing. He did not offer to accompany Grail up to the door.

CHAPTER IX

A GOLDEN PROSPECT

It wanted a week to Christmas. For many days the weather had been as
bad as it can be even in London. Windows glimmered at noon with the
sickly ray of gas or lamp; the roads were trodden into viscid foulness;
all night the droppings of a pestilent rain were doleful upon the roof,
and only the change from a black to a yellow sky told that the sun was
risen. No wonder Thyrza was ailing.

It was nothing serious. The inevitable cold had clung to her and become
feverish; it was necessary for her to stay at home for a day or two.
Lydia made her hours of work as short as possible, hastening to get
back to her sister. But fortunately there was a friend always at hand;
Mrs. Grail could not have been more anxious about a child of her own.
Her attendance was of the kind which inspires trust; Lydia, always
fretting herself into the extreme of nervousness if her dear one lost
for a day the wonted health, was thankful she had not to depend on Mrs.
Jarmey's offices.

Thyrza had spent a day in bed, but could now sit by the fire; her chair
came from the Grails' parlour, and was the very one which had always
seemed to her so comfortable. Her wish that Lyddy should sit in it had
at length been gratified.

It was seven o'clock on Friday evening. The table was drawn near to
Thyrza's chair, and Thyrza was engaged in counting out silver coins,
which she took from a capacious old purse. Lydia leaned on the table
opposite.

'Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-si