Then she went back to keep her vigil by the sick-bed, and to exercise her woman’s prerogative to ease and minister to pain.  There was so little any one could do now, however, to help Abel Graham, the issue of his case being in the hand of God.  In obedience to the request of Gladys, Walter went back to bed, and she sat on by the fire, thoroughly awake, and watchful to be of the slightest use to her uncle.  He did not talk much, but he appeared to watch Gladys, and to be full of thoughts concerning her.

‘Do you remember that night I came, after your father died?’ he asked once.

‘Yes,’ she answered in a low voice.  ‘I remember it well.’

‘You felt bitter and hard against me, did you not?’

‘If I did, Uncle Abel, it has long passed,’ she answered.  ’There is no good to be got recalling what is past.’

’Perhaps not; but, my girl, when a man comes to his dying bed it is the past he harks back on, trying to get some comfort out of it for the future he dreads, and failing always.’

‘It is not your dying bed, Uncle Abel, I hope; you are not so old yet,’ she said cheerfully.

’No, I’m not old in years—­not sixty—­but old enough to regret my youth,’ he said.  ’Are you still of the same mind about the spending of money, if you should ever have it to spend?’

’Yes; but it is so unlikely, Uncle Abel, that I shall ever have any money to spend.  It is quite easy saying what we can do in imaginary circumstances.  Reality is always different, and more difficult to deal with.’

‘You are very wise for your years.  How many are they?’

‘Seventeen and three months.’

’Ay, well, you look your age and more.  You’d pass for twenty, but no wonder; and’—­

’I wish you would not talk so much, uncle; it will excite and exhaust you,’ she said, in gentle remonstrance.

’I must talk, if my time is short.  Suppose I’m taken, what will you do with yourself, eh?’

’The way will open up for me, I do not doubt; there must be a corner for me somewhere,’ she said bravely; nevertheless, her young cheek blanched, and she shivered slightly as she glanced round the place—­poor enough, perhaps, but which at least afforded her a peaceful and comfortable home.  These signs were not unnoticed by the dying man, and a faint, slow, melancholy smile gathered about his haggard mouth.

‘You believe, I suppose, that the Lord will provide for you?’ he said grimly.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Does He never fail, eh?’

’Never.  He does not always provide just as we expect or desire, but provision is made all the same,’ answered the girl, and her eyes shone with a steadfast light.

’It’s a very comfortable doctrine, but not practicable, nor, to my thinking, honest.  Do you mean to say that it is right to sit down with folded hands waiting for the Lord to provide, and living off other people at the same time?’