at I've had
experience--mind, experience--and am a full-grown, reasonable woman, and
not a fine lady. I know the poor little sister will be shaking like a
leaf, and frightening the darling; and you are stiff in the joints
yourself, Mrs. Price, and a little overcome. I'm just the person, so let
me in!"

Master Rowland, without his coat (for though he had an orderly turn of
his own, he was not a methodical enough man to travel with a gown and
slippers in his valise), was labouring to recover his niece; Mistress
Prissy, with her cloak huddled round her, was making magnanimous
efforts to aid her uncle; while the poor little sufferer--guileless,
affectionate Mistress Fiddy--lay pale, faint, and chill, with life
flickering beneath her half-closed eyelids and in the gushes of her
fitful breath. Master Rowland's trouble rendered him outwardly cold
and hard, as it does some men; yet Mistress Fiddy's closing eyes
turned trustfully to him, and her weak fingers clung tightly to his
strong hand.

"No, no; the fewer onlookers the better. What would a stranger do here,
Mrs. Price?" he inquired angrily, remembering, with a pang, that certain
new, unaccountable, engrossing emotions had quite banished Fiddy from
his thoughts and notice, when he might have detected the signs of
approaching illness, met them and vanquished them before their climax.

"Bid him speak a word with me, Mrs. Price, a gentleman cannot refuse. I
have reasons which will excuse my importunity," reiterated that
sympathetic voice.

He walked out doggedly, and never once lifted his eyes. "Madam, I am
your servant; but we do not need your help: my niece would be scared by
the presence of a stranger. Reserve your charity----" "for the poor" he
was about to add; but she put her frank hand upon his arm, and said,
"Your worship, I believe I could nurse the young lady better than
anybody: I have seen my dear sister afflicted, as I judge similarly. Do
not stand on ceremony, sir, and deprive a poor girl of a benefit which
Providence has sent her, if you would not regret it. I beg your pardon,
but do let me succour her."

He looked up. There she stood in her white wrapping-gown and cap, ready
prepared for her patient; so appropriate-looking in dress and face, with
her broad forehead full of thought, and her cheek flushed with feeling;
an able tender woman in her prime, endeavouring to do Christian offices,
longing to pour balm into gaping, smarting wounds, imploring to be