‘The morning after Mr Mills left, sir,’ said the landlady ’Mrs Mills did not ring for breakfast, or show any sign of being up.  I waited for a long time, and then I went and listened at the bedroom door.  I heard a kind of moaning, and was so frightened, I made so bold as to go in.  I found the poor lady lying down on the bed, beside the little girl, who was still asleep.  She seemed more dead than alive, and looked at me terrified-like, as if she didn’t know who was coming in.  When she saw me, she tried to get up and look cheerful, and to give account of her never having undressed.  I went and made her some tea, and got her to go into the sitting-room by the fire which the girl lighted, for she was as cold as death.  Then I dressed the little girl, who awoke and began to cry when she saw how pale her mamma looked, and I told her to try to make her mamma eat and drink.  And the little dear, like an angel as she is, began to comfort her mother, and to coax her, and when I saw the poor lady begin to shed tears over the child I went away.

’Ever since that morning, sir, she has been in a kind of a dream.  She does nothing but look out of the window, up and down the street, as if she was expecting some one, and whenever there is a step on the stairs, she runs to the door and peeps out.  And then, when the postman’s knock is heard, she starts, turns red, turns pale, and puts her hand on her heart.  I am sure she has heart complaint, and I asked her to let me send for a doctor, but she wouldn’t hear of it.  Sometimes I think she’s a little crazed.  Once I mentioned the clergy, and asked if she wouldn’t like to see one, and said you and Mr Jones, sir, were very kind gentlemen.  She started up, and said, “Hush! hush! not for worlds—­not for worlds!  Mr Mills will soon be back!” She gave me a ten-pound note to change twice—­and I was obliged to buy everything for her and the little girl, for they hadn’t a rag with them, except what they stood up in.  I was as careful as I could be, but the money went, and now she talks of selling some jewels and things she brought with her.  Oh, sir! if you could find their friends!’

As may be supposed, Rowland had some difficulty in controlling his emotion during this recital.  When Mrs Saunders paused, he said,—­

’I have every reason to believe that I know this poor lady, and, if you will trust me to go to her, I am sure that I shall be of service.  I must go quite alone.  You may depend upon my having a right to do this.’

’Whatever you do, sir, is sure to be right and kind.  If you will take it upon yourself I shall be only too glad.  You know the room, sir? the one where you used to go and see my poor husband.’

Rowland was upstairs immediately.  Almost before he reached the door, a pale, haggard face peered out of it.

‘It is—­it is Howel!’ cried poor Netta, rushing into the gloomy passage, and throwing her arms round Rowland’s neck.

‘No, Netta—­dearest Netta! it is I, Rowland—­your brother,’ said Rowland, supporting his fainting sister back into the room.