g a subscription funeral, raised by
threepenny bits and tanners; and every cabby on the ranks'd have a
little crape bow on his whip in memory o' Sam Jenkles, as drunk hisself
to death."

"Don't, pray, Sam," sobbed his wife.

"It's true enough, missus; and I b'lieve the chaps 'd be sorry; while as
for old Ratty, I b'lieve he'd cry."

"Sam!" sobbed his wife.

"I wonder," said Sam, dolefully, "whether they'd let the old 'oss follow
like they do the soldiers, with my whip and boots hanging one side, and
my old 'at on the other. Sh! here's Mrs Lane."

"Mrs Jenkles," cried their lodger, hurriedly, "go and ask Mr Lloyd to
come over. She wants to see him."

"Is she worse, ma'am?"

The mother's lip quivered for reply; but after stifling a sob, she
gasped--

"And ask Mr Reston, the doctor, to step in."

"I'll run for him, mum, while the missus fetches Mr Lloyd," said Sam,
hurrying away.

A few minutes after, Richard ascended to Netta's room, to be received
with a smile of pleasure, and he took the seat to which the poor girl
pointed.

"Are you better to-night, my dear?" he said, kissing her gravely.

"Yes, much," she said, retaining his hand and keeping it pinioned
between hers. "I want you to sit and talk to me to-night--mamma will
like to hear--about our rides, and the woods and flowers. Ah, how
little I've seen of the country and the flowers!"

She started as she caught a sigh from Mrs Lane.

"You could not help it, dear," she said, hastily. "Don't think me
ungrateful. Come and kiss me, and tell me you don't."

Mrs Lane bent over her, and kissed her poor thin lips; and though the
fount was nearly dry, a couple of burning tears fell upon the face of
her child.

"If I could only be at rest about you," said Netta, drawing her mother
closer to her, "I could be so happy. There, we've asked Mr Lloyd to
come, and here is a welcome."

She half playfully pointed to a chair, and once more took Richard's hand
between both hers, listening to him as he tried to talk cheerfully, not
so much of the past as of trips to come, till, meeting her eyes, and
seeing in them the sad, reproachful gaze of one who said "Why this
deceit?" his voice grew husky, and he was silent.

"What's that?" said Netta, suddenly, as she heard steps below. "Oh,
mamma, you have sent for him again--why did you?"

There was tender love in the reproachful smile--one which faded as the
doctor entered, and Richard gave up his place to him.