p, and said so. Her voice was clear, and the hand
Gwen took--so she thought--closed on hers with a greater strength than
before. If only she had stirred in bed, it would have seemed a return of
living power. But this slight vitality in the hands alone seemed to
count for so little. She wanted something, evidently, and both her
nurses tried to get a clue to it. It was not food; though, to please
them, she promised to take some. Gwen's thought that possibly she had
something for her ear alone--which she had hesitated to communicate to
old Phoebe--was confirmed when the latter left the room to get the
beef-tea, and so forth, which was always within reach if needed. For old
Maisie said plainly:--"_Now_ I can tell you--my dear!"

"What about, dear Mrs. Picture?" said Gwen, caressing the hand she held,
and smoothing back the silver locks from the grave grey eyes so
earnestly fixed on hers. "Tell me what."

"My son," said old Maisie. "I have a son, have I not?"--this in a
frightened way, as though again in doubt of her own sanity--"and he is
bad, is he not, and has written me a letter?"

"That's all right. I've got the letter, to show to my father."

"Oh yes--do show it--to the old gentleman I saw. He is your father...."

"You would like to say something about your son, dear Mrs.
Picture--something we can do for you. Now try and tell me just what you
would like."

"I want you, my dear, to find me my purse out of the other watch-pocket.
I asked my Ruth to put it there.... She is Widow Thrale ... is she not?"
Every effort at thought of her surroundings was a strain to her mind,
plainly enough.

"There it is!" said Gwen. "Soon found!... Now, am I to see how much
money you've got in it?"

"Yes, please!" It was an old knitted silk purse with a slip-ring. In the
early fifties the leather purses with snaps, that leak at the seam and
let half-sovereigns through before you find it out, were rare in the
pockets of old people.

"Six new pounds, and one, two, three, four shillings in silver, and two
sixpences, and one fourpence, and a halfpenny! Shall I keep it for you,
to be safe?"

"No, dear! I want--I want ..."

"I hope," thought Gwen to herself, "she's not going to have it sent to
her execrable son. Yes, dear, what is it you want done with it?"

"I want three of the pounds to go to Susan Burr, for her to pay eight
weeks of the rent. It's seven-and-sixpence a week."

"And the rest--shall I keep it?"

"Tell me--my son