in a like case.  Lady Shuttleworth never drove through the village without taking her some pleasant gift—­tea, or fruit, or eggs, or even little pots of jam, to be eaten discreetly and in spoonfuls.  She also paid a woman to look in at short intervals during the day and shake up her pillow.  Kindness and attention and even affection could not, it will be admitted, go further; all three had been heaped on Mrs. Jones with generous hands; and in return she had expressed no sentiments that were not appropriate, and never, never had breathed the faintest suggestion to any of her benefactors that what she really wanted most was rum.  It shocked both the women inexpressibly, and positively pained Lady Shuttleworth.  Mrs. Morrison privately believed Priscilla had put the idea into the old lady’s head, and began to regard her in something of the light of a fiend.

“Suppose,” said Priscilla, “we look upon it as medicine.”

“But my dear, it is not medicine,” said Lady Shuttleworth.

“It is poison,” repeated Mrs. Morrison.

“How can it be if it does her so much good?  I must keep my promise.  I wouldn’t disappoint her for the world.  If only you’d seen her delight”—­they quivered—­“you’d agree that she mustn’t be disappointed, poor old dying thing.  Why, it might kill her.  But suppose we treat it as a medicine, and I lock up the bottle and go round and give her a little myself three or four times a day—­wouldn’t that be a good plan?  Surely it couldn’t hurt?”

“There is no law to stop you,” said Mrs. Morrison; and Lady Shuttleworth stared at the girl in silent dismay.

“I can try it at least,” said Priscilla; “and if I find it’s really doing her harm I’ll leave off.  But I promised, and she’s expecting it now every minute.  I can’t break my promise.  Do tell me—­is the Cock and Hens that inn round the corner?  She told me it was best there.”

“But you cannot go yourself to the Cock and Hens and buy rum,” exclaimed Lady Shuttleworth, roused to energy; and her voice was full of so determined a protest that the vicar’s wife, who thought it didn’t matter at all where such a young woman went, received a fresh shock.

“Why not?” inquired Priscilla.

“My dear, sooner than you should do that I’ll—­I’ll go and buy it myself,” cried Lady Shuttleworth.

“Gracious heavens,” thought Mrs. Morrison, perfectly staggered by this speech.  Had Lady Shuttleworth suddenly lost her reason?  Or was she already accepting the girl as her son’s wife?  Priscilla looked at her a moment with grave eyes.  “Is it because I’m a girl that I mustn’t?” she asked.

“Yes.  For one thing.  But—­” Lady Shuttleworth shut her mouth.

“But what?” asked Priscilla.

“Oh, nothing.”

“If it’s not the custom of the country for a girl to go I’ll send Mr. Morrison,” said Priscilla.

“Send Mr. Morrison?” gasped the vicar’s wife.

“What, the vicar?” exclaimed Lady Shuttleworth.