He went down when the messenger came, and sent him first to purchase pen, ink, and paper.  The man’s next errand dispatched him to make inquiries for a person who could provide for deadening the sound of passing wheels in the street by laying down tan before the house in the usual way.  This object accomplished, the messenger received two letters to post.  The first was addressed to Kirke’s brother-in-law.  It told him, in few and plain words, what had happened; and left him to break the news to his wife as he thought best.  The second letter was directed to the landlord of the Aldborough Hotel.  Magdalen’s assumed name at North Shingles was the only name by which Kirke knew her; and the one chance of tracing her relatives that he could discern was the chance of discovering her reputed uncle and aunt by means of inquiries starting from Aldborough.

Toward the close of the afternoon a decent middle-aged woman came to the house, with a letter from Mr. Merrick.  She was well known to the doctor as a trustworthy and careful person, who had nursed his own wife; and she would be assisted, from time to time, by a lady who was a member of a religious Sisterhood in the district, and whose compassionate interest had been warmly aroused in the case.  Toward eight o’clock that evening the doctor himself would call and see that his patient wanted for nothing.

The arrival of the nurse, and the relief of knowing that she was to be trusted, left Kirke free to think of himself.  His luggage was ready packed for his contemplated journey to Suffolk the next day.  It was merely necessary to transport it from the hotel to the house in Aaron’s Buildings.

He stopped once only on his way to the hotel to look at a toyshop in one of the great thoroughfares.  The miniature ships in the window reminded him of his nephew.  “My little name-sake will be sadly disappointed at not seeing me to-morrow,” he thought.  “I must make it up to the boy by sending him something from his uncle.”  He went into the shop and bought one of the ships.  It was secured in a box, and packed and directed in his presence.  He put a ca rd on the deck of the miniature vessel before the cover of the box was nailed on, bearing this inscription:  “A ship for the little sailor, with the big sailor’s love.”—­“Children like to be written to, ma’am,” he said, apologetically, to the woman behind the counter.  “Send the box as soon as you can—­I am anxious the boy should get it to-morrow.”

Toward the dusk of the evening he returned with his luggage to Aaron’s Buildings.  He took off his boots in the passage and carried his trunk upstairs himself; stopping, as he passed the first floor, to make his inquiries.  Mr. Merrick was present to answer them.

“She was awake and wandering,” said the doctor, “a few minutes since.  But we have succeeded in composing her, and she is sleeping now.”

“Have no words escaped her, sir, which might help us to find her friends?”