“Oh, thank you, Mr. Jerrold; it will be something to know I have a friend, for we are all alone.  Neil is in Cairo, and there is no one beside him on whom we have any claim.  I have heard Bessie speak of you; only last night she called you by name in her delirium.”

“Yes, I heard her,” Grey said, explaining that he occupied the adjoining room, and thus had learned that there was some one sick near him.

In an instant Daisy’s face brightened as something of her old managing nature asserted itself, and in a few moments she adroitly contrived to let Grey know how very much alone she felt with no male friend to counsel her; how bitterly disappointed she was that the last mail from England did not bring her the expected funds which she so sorely needed; how exorbitant the proprietor of the hotel was in his charges, taking every possible advantage of her helpless condition; and how much she had desired an adjoining room, in order that Bessie might have better air, and those who took care of her more space.

“Not that it matters so very much, except for the air,” she added; “for I cannot afford a nurse, so there is one less breath in the room.  Oh, Mr. Jerrold, it is dreadful to be sick in Rome, with no friends and very little money.  If Neil were here, or my remittances from England would come, it would be all right.”

“No nurse,” Grey exclaimed.  “Have you no nurse for your daughter?  Who, then, takes care of her?”

“I do, with Miss Meredith’s help.  She is very kind, and occasionally one of the servants in the hotel stays with us during the night; but I hear Bessie moving, and I must go.  I am so glad that you are here.  Good-morning.”

It is needless to say that within two hours’ time Grey’s room was at Daisy’s disposal, and the proprietor had orders to charge the same to Mr. Jerrold’s account instead of Mrs. McPherson’s, while Grey’s own luggage was transported to a little, close, eight-by-twelve apartment, which smelled worse than old Mrs. Meredith’s could possibly have smelled with all her burnt brimstone and camphor and chloride of lime.  The physician, an Italian, was also interviewed, and a competent nurse secured and introduced into the sick-room, and when Daisy protested that she could not meet the expense, Grey said to her: 

“Give yourself no uneasiness on that score; that is my business.  We cannot let Bessie die.”

And then he asked to see her.  Very cautiously he entered the room, and with a great throb of pain in his heart stood looking upon the pallid face and the bright blue eyes which met his inquiringly, but had in them no sign of recognition.  Taking one of her hands in his and bending over her, Grey said, very softly: 

“Do you know me, Bessie?”

There was tenderness and pity in the tone of his voice as he said the name Bessie, and the sick girl looked at him curiously, as if struggling to recall something in the far past; then a smile broke over her face and the lip quivered a little as she replied: