"Thank'ee, Mr. Halifax," said the honest landlady, greatly delighted.
"But a body couldn't help doing anything for Miss March. You would
think so yourself, if you only knew her."

"No doubt," returned John, more politely than warmly, I fancied, as he
closed the door after the retreating figure of Mrs. Tod. But when he
came and sat down again I saw he was rather thoughtful. He turned the
books restlessly, one after the other, and could not settle to
anything. To all my speculations about our sick neighbour, and our
pearl of kind-hearted landladies, he only replied in monosyllables; at
last he started up and said,--

"Phineas, I think I'll go myself."

"Where?"

"To fetch Doctor Brown. If Tod is not come in it would be but a common
charity. And I know the way."

"But the dark night?"

"Oh, no matter; the mare will be safer under me than a stranger. And
though I have taken good care that the three horses in the tan-yard
shall have the journey, turn and turn about; still it's a good pull
from here to Norton Bury, and the mare's my favourite. I would rather
take her myself."

I smiled at his numerous good reasons for doing such a very simple
thing; and agreed that it was right and best he should do it.

"Then shall I call Mrs. Tod and inquire? Or perhaps it might make less
fuss just to go and speak to her in the kitchen. Will you, Phineas, or
shall I?"

Scarcely waiting my answer, we walked from our parlour into what I
called the Debateable Land.

No one was there. We remained several minutes all alone, listening to
the groaning overhead.

"That must be Mr. March, John."

"I hear. Good heavens! how hard for her. And she such a young thing,
and alone," muttered he, as he stood gazing into the dull wood embers
of the kitchen fire. I saw he was moved; but the expression on his
face was one of pure and holy compassion. That at this moment no less
unselfish feeling mingled with it I am sure.

Mrs. Tod appeared at the door leading to the other half of the cottage;
she was apparently speaking to Miss March on the staircase. We heard
again those clear, quick, decided tones, but subdued to a half-whisper.

"No, Mrs. Tod, I am not sorry you did it--on my father's account, 'tis
best. Tell Mr.--the young gentleman--I forget his name--that I am very
much obliged to him."

"I will, Miss March--stay, he is just here.--Bless us! she has shut the
door already.--Won't you take a seat, Mr. Halifax? I'll s