terror, the
poor girl at once knew that Pen's mother was before her; there was a
resemblance between the widow's haggard eyes and Arthur's as he tossed
in his bed in fever. Fanny looked wistfully at Mrs. Pendennis and at
Laura afterwards; there was no more expression in the latter's face than
if it had been a mass of stone. Hard-heartedness and gloom dwelt on the
figures of both the new-comers; neither showed any the faintest gleam
of mercy or sympathy for Fanny. She looked desperately from them to the
Major behind them. Old Pendennis dropped his eyelids, looking up ever so
stealthily from under them at Arthur's poor little nurse.

"I--I wrote to you yesterday, if you please, ma'am," Fanny said,
trembling in every limb as she spoke; and as pale as Laura, whose sad
menacing face looked over Mrs. Pendennis's shoulder.

"Did you, madam?" Mrs. Pendennis said. "I suppose I may now relieve you
from nursing my son. I am his mother, you understand."

"Yes, ma'am. I--this is the way to his--Oh, wait a minute," cried out
Fanny. "I must prepare you for his----"

The widow, whose face had been hopelessly cruel and ruthless, here
started back with a gasp and a little cry, which she speedily stifled.

"He's been so since yesterday," Fanny said, trembling very much, and
with chattering teeth.

A horrid shriek of laughter came out of Pen's room, whereof the door was
open; and, after several shouts, the poor wretch began to sing a college
drinking-song, and then to hurray and to shout as if he was in the midst
of a wine-party, and to thump with his fist against the wainscot. He was
quite delirious.

"He does not know me, ma'am," Fanny said.

"Indeed. Perhaps he will know his mother; let me pass, if you please,
and go in to him." And the widow hastily pushed by little Fanny, and
through the dark passage which led into Pen's sitting-room. Laura sailed
by Fanny, too, without a word; and Major Pendennis followed them. Fanny
sat down on a bench in the passage, and cried, and prayed as well as she
could. She would have died for him; and they hated her. They had not a
word of thanks or kindness for her, the fine ladies. She sate there in
the passage, she did not know how long. They never came out to speak to
her. She sate there until Doctor Goodenough came to pay his second visit
that day; he found the poor little thing at the door.

"What, nurse? How's your patient?" asked the good-natured Doctor. "Has
he had any rest?"

"Go and a