I may as well here inform the reader that I remained a week at Chatham, and that during that time Lady O’Connor put an advertisement in the county paper, such as we knew would be a bait to my mother.  This paper I forwarded to Virginia, marking the advertisement.  My mother immediately replied to it, and Sir James O’Connor went up to Greenwich and had an interview with my mother and Virginia, at apartments he had taken at the hotel; appeared pleased with my sister, and said that as soon as Lady O’Connor was sufficiently recovered she would send for her to Chatham.  This took place in two days afterward; my mother escorted Virginia there.  Sir James stated that her ladyship was too unwell to see anybody, but that she would speak a few words to Virginia and leave Sir James to settle the rest with my mother.  Virginia came down to her mother, declared that Lady O’Connor was a very ladylike, elegant person, and that she should wish to take the situation.  The terms were handsome, and my mother, although she regretted not seeing her ladyship, was satisfied, and Virginia was to come in two days afterward, which she did.  Thus was my sister comfortably settled, and after remaining two days I took my leave of Sir James and Lady O’Connor, intending to return to Deal, when I received a letter from Peter Anderson, informing me that old Nanny had been suddenly taken very ill, and that Dr. Tadpole did not think it possible that she would survive more than twenty-four hours; that she was very anxious to see me, and that he hoped I would come up immediately.

I showed the letter to Lady O’Connor, who said, “You will go, of course, Tom.”

“Immediately,” replied I, “and the more so as this letter is dated three days back; how it has been delayed I do not know.  Farewell, Lady O’Connor; and farewell, dearest Virginia.  Old Nanny, as you both know, has many claims upon my gratitude.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

     My Father, much to his surprise, has a bit of Land to put his Foot
     upon, and say “This is my own”.

“You’re too late, Tom,” said Ben the Whaler, as I jumped down from off the basket of the coach; “the old woman died last night.”

“I’m sorry for it, Ben,” replied I, “as she wished so much to see me; but I did not receive Anderson’s letter till this morning, and I could not get here sooner.”

This intelligence induced me to direct my course to the hospital, where I had no doubt that I should find old Anderson, and obtain every information.  I met him as he was walking toward the bench on the terrace facing the river, where he usually was seated when the weather was fine.  “Well, Tom,” said he, “I expected you, and did hope that you would have been here sooner.  Come, sit down here, and I will give you the information which I know you have most at your heart.  The old woman made a very happy end.  I was with her till she died.  She left many kind wishes for you, and I think her only regret was that she did not see you before she was called away.”