o say, but that there was a poor lady in her mistress's second
floor, who was very ill, out of her mind she thought, and who hadn't a
friend in the world. The lady had forbidden her mistress to speak to any
doctor or clergyman about her, but she had not forbidden her. And indeed
it seemed almost worse to see a lady in such trouble and sickness than
it did those who were used to it, as she, and the like of her had been,
and would be still, but for Mr Prothero.

'What is her name?' asked Rowland eagerly.

'Mrs Mills, sir.'

Rowland's sudden hope fell.

'And she has a little girl, sir, who isn't well either, and who does
nothing but cry and moan.'

'What is her name?'

'Her mamma calls her Minette, or some such name, sir.'

'I will come with you now,' said Rowland, in great agitation. 'Make
haste; I suppose she has been with you some time.'

'More than a month, sir, and she is always expecting some one to
come--and no one comes.'

Rowland strode on, fast--faster than he had once before walked with
Gladys--heedless of everything around him. In about a quarter of an hour
he and the girl reached the lodging house.

'You will tell missus how it was, please, sir. I don't think she can be
angry, sir.'

'I am sure she will not be angry; tell her that I want to see her.

Mrs Saunders, the landlady, came at once.

Rowland inquired into the particulars of Netta's arrival at her house,
her illness, etc., and heard what we already know of Howel's sudden
departure; and the following account, in addition of the month Netta had
spent since he left her.

'The morning after Mr Mills left, sir,' said the landlady 'Mrs Mills did
not ring for breakfast, or show any sign of being up. I waited for a
long time, and then I went and listened at the bedroom door. I heard a
kind of moaning, and was so frightened, I made so bold as to go in. I
found the poor lady lying down on the bed, beside the little girl, who
was still asleep. She seemed more dead than alive, and looked at me
terrified-like, as if she didn't know who was coming in. When she saw
me, she tried to get up and look cheerful, and to give account of her
never having undressed. I went and made her some tea, and got her to go
into the sitting-room by the fire which the girl lighted, for she was as
cold as death. Then I dressed the little girl, who awoke and began to
cry when she saw how pale her mamma looked, and I told her to try to
make her mamma eat and drink. And the