little watchdog suddenly put on his
guard.

"May I come in?" said Raby again timidly.

"Here she is!" cried Tim, running to her; "John's asleep, and he,"--
pointing to the figure on the bed--"can't run about."

"Correct, Timothy," said the youth referred to; "I can't--hullo!"

This last exclamation was caused by his catching sight of Raby at the
door. He had expected a lodger; but what was this apparition?

"Please come in," said he, bewildered; "it's a shocking room to ask you
into, and--Timothy, introduce me to your friend."

Raby smiled; and how the crippled lad thought it brightened the room!
"Tim and I are friends," said she, lifting up the child to give him a
kiss. "I'm afraid you are very badly hurt. I heard of the fire as I
came up."

"No, I'm all right; I'm never very active. In fact, I can only move my
hands and my head, as Timothy says. I can't run, I'm a cripple. I
shouldn't be anything if it wasn't for Jeff. Hullo, Jeff! wake up, old
man!"

Raby started and turned pale as she raised her hand to prevent his
waking the sleeper.

"No, please, don't wake him; what did you say his name was?"

"Jeffreys--John Jeffreys--commonly called Jeff. He hauled me out of the
fire last night, and guessed as little at the time who I was as I
guessed who he was. I can't believe it yet. It's like a--"

"You haven't told me your name," said Raby faintly.

"Gerard Forrester, at your service. Hullo, I say, are you ill? Hi!
Jeff, wake up, old man; you're wanted."

Raby had only time to sink on a chair and draw Tim to her when Jeffreys
suddenly woke and rose to his feet.

"What is it, Forrester, old fellow? anything wrong?" said he, springing
to the bedside.

"I don't know what's the matter--look behind you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why did she cry?" asked Tim presently, when she had gone. "I know;
because of that ugly man," added he, pointing to Forrester.

"Excuse me, young man, I have the reputation of being good-looking; that
cannot have been the reason. But, Jeff, I'm all in a dream. Who is
she? and how comes she to know you or me? And, as Timothy pertinently
remarks, `Whence these tears?' Tell us all about it before the baby
wakes."

Jeffreys told him. The story was the history of his life since he had
left Bolsover; and it took long to tell, for he passed over nothing.

"Poor old man!" said Forrester, when it was done; "what a lot y