And soon after Hannah took her solitary cup of tea, and shut up the hut and retired to bed.  She had not had a good night’s rest since that fatal night of Nora’s flight through the snow storm to Brudenell Hall, and her subsequent illness and death.  Now, therefore, Hannah slept the sleep of utter mental and physical prostration.

The babe did not disturb her repose.  Indeed, it was a very patient little sufferer, if such a term may be applied to so young a child.  But it was strange that an infant so pale, thin, and sickly, deprived of its mother’s nursing care besides, should have made so little plaint and given so little trouble.  Perhaps in the lack of human pity he had the love of heavenly spirits, who watched over him, soothed his pains, and stilled his cries.  We cannot tell how that may have been, but it is certain that Ishmael was an angel from his very birth.

The next day, as Hannah was standing at the table, busy in cutting out small garments, and the baby-boy was lying upon the bed equally busy in sucking his thumb, the door was pushed open and the Professor of Odd Jobs stood in the doorway, with a hand upon either post, and sadness on his usually good-humored and festive countenance.

“Ah, Jim, is that you?  Come in, your money is all ready for you,” said Hannah on perceiving him.

It is not the poor who “grind the faces of the poor.”  Jim Morris would have scorned to have taken a dollar from Hannah Worth at this trying crisis of her life.

“Now, Miss Hannah,” he answered, as he came in at her bidding, “please don’t you say one word to me ’bout de filthy lucre, ’less you means to ‘sult me an’ hurt my feelin’s.  I don’t ‘quire of no money for doin’ of a man’s duty by a lone ’oman!  Think Jim Morris is a man to ’pose upon a lone ’oman?  Hopes not, indeed!  No, Miss Hannah!  I aint a wolf, nor likewise a bear!  Our Heabenly Maker, he gib us our lives an’ de earth an’ all as is on it, for ourselves free!  And what have we to render him in turn?  Nothing!  And what does he ’quire ob us?  On’y lub him and lub each oder, like human beings and ’mortal souls made in his own image to live forever! and not to screw and ‘press each oder, and devour an’ prey on each oder like de wild beastesses dat perish!  And I considers, Miss Hannah—­”

And here, in fact, the professor, having secured a patient hearer, launched into an oration that, were I to report it word for word, would take up more room than we can spare him.  He brought his discourse round in a circle, and ended where he had begun.

“And so, Miss Hannah, say no more to me ’bout de money, ’less you want to woun’ my feelin’s.”

“Well, I will not, Morris; but I feel so grateful to you that I would like to repay you in something better than mere words,” said Hannah.