olvitur ambulando,"
said Philosophy, and _a priori_ reasoning took a back place.

Her constant inquiries about the date of Dave's cure and return were an
added and grievous pain to her aunt and uncle. It was easy for the
moment to procrastinate, but how if the time should come for telling her
that Dave would never come back--no, never?

But the time was not to come yet. For a few days Life showed indecision,
and Uncle Mo and Aunt M'riar had a thumping heart apiece each time they
stood by the little, still, white figure on the bed and thought the
breath was surely gone. They were allowed in the ward every day,
contrary to visitor-rule, apparently because of Uncle Mo's professional
eminence in years gone by--an odd reason when one thinks of it! It was
along of that good gentleman, God bless him!--said Aunt M'riar--that
knew Uncle Mo's name in the Ring. In fact, the good gentleman had said
to the House-Surgeon in private converse: "You see, there's no doubt the
old chap ended sixteen rounds with Brettle in a draw, and Jem Mace had a
near touch with Brettle. No, no--we must let him see the case day by
day." So Uncle Mo saw the case each day, and each day went away to
transact such business with Hope as might be practicable. And each day,
on his return, there was a voice heard in Sapps Court, Dolly weeping for
her elder brother, and would not be comforted. "Oo _did_ said oo would
fess Dave back from the Horsetickle, oo know oo did, Uncle Mo"; and
similar reproaches, mixed themselves with her sobs. But for many days
she got no consolation beyond assurance that Dave would come to-morrow,
discharged cured.

Then, one windy morning, a punctual equinoctial gale, gathering up its
energies to keep inoffensive persons awake all night and, if possible,
knock some chimney-stacks down, blew Uncle Mo's pipelight out, and
caused him to make use of an expression. And Aunt M'riar reproved that
expression, saying:--"Not with that blessed boy lying there in the
Hospital should you say such language, Moses, more like profane
swearing, I call it, than a Christian household."

"He's an old Heathen, ma'am, is Moses," said Mr. Alibone, who was
succeeding in lighting his own pipe, in spite of the wind in at the
street door. Because, as we have seen, in this Court--unlike the Courts
of Law or Her Majesty's Court of St. James's--the kitchens opened right
on the street. Not but what, for all that, there was the number where
you would expect, on a