h descriptions of more than one rare mode of shoeing to which
he had given attention; he was, therefore, the less shy of being
discovered about the place.

From the back he found his way into the roofless hall, and there paced
quietly up and down, measuring the floor, and guessing at the height
and thickness of the walls, and the sort of roof they had borne. He
noted that the wall of the house rose higher than those of the ruin
with which it was in contact; and that there was a window in it just
over one of those walls. Thinking whether it had been there when the
roof was on, he saw through it the flickering of a fire, and wondered
whether it could be the window of Mr. Redmain's room.

Mary, having resolved not to give any notice of her arrival, if she
could get in without it, and finding the hall-door on the latch,
entered quietly, and walked straight to Mr. Redmain's bedroom. When she
opened the door of it, Mewks came hurriedly to meet her, as if he would
have made her go out again, but she scarcely looked at him, and
advanced to the bed. Mr. Redmain was just waking from the sleep into
which he had fallen after a severe paroxysm.

"Ah, there you are!" he said, smiling her a feeble welcome. "I am glad
you are come. I have been looking out for you. I am very ill. If it
comes again to-night, I think it will make an end of me."

She sat down by the bedside. He lay quite still for some time,
breathing like one very weary. Then he seemed to grow easier, and said,
with much gentleness:

"Can't you talk to me?"

"Would you like me to read to you?" she asked.

"No," he answered; "I can't bear the light; it makes my head furious."

"Shall I talk to you about my father?" she asked.

"I don't believe in fathers," he replied. "They're always after some
notion of their own. It's not their children they care about."

"That may be true of some fathers," answered Mary; "but it is not the
least true of mine."

"Where is he? Why don't you bring him to see me, if he is such a good
man? He might be able to do something for me."

"There is none but your own father can do anything for you," said Mary.
"My father is gone home to him, but if he were here, he would only tell
you about _him_."

There was a moment's silence.

"Why don't you talk?" said Mr. Redmain, crossly. "What's the good of
sitting there saying nothing! How am I to forget that the pain will be
here again, if you don't say a word to help me?"

Mary lifted up