‘Well, I begged an’ I prayed of her as she’d tell me where she belonged, and where her friends was.  But she could only cry an’ say as she’d go away, and wouldn’t be a burden.  ’Don’t talk silly, child,’ I kep’ sayin’.  ’How can you go away in this state?  Unless you’re goin’ to your friends?’ But she said no, as she hadn’t no friends to go to.  An’ she cried so, it fair went to my heart, the poor thing!  An’ I begun to be that afraid as she’d die.  I am that glad as you’ve come, mum.  If you don’t mind waitin’ another ten minutes, the worst o’ this ‘ll be over, an’ then I can leave ‘Lizabeth to it, and go upstairs with you.’

‘Is she conscious at present?’

’She was, a little while ago.  It is the nights is worst, of course.  Last night she talked an’ talked:  it’s easy to see she has some trouble on her mind.  I haven’t got nobody as can sit with her when we have the shop full.  But I was with her up to three o’clock this morning; then ’Lizabeth took my place till the shop was opened for the early corfee.  I don’t think she’s no worse, and the doctor he don’t think so.  He’s a clever man, I believe; at all events he has that name, as I may say, and he lives just round here in Winter Street, a house with green-painted railing, and ‘’Spensary’ wrote up on the window’

‘Will he call again to-day?’

’I don’t suppose as he would, but he’s sure to be at ’ome in an hour, and, if you’d like, mum, I’d just send ‘Lizabeth round.’

‘Thank you; I think I’ll go and see him.’

At last the burden of the dinner-hour was over, and ’Lizabeth could be left alone for a little.  Mrs. Gandle washed her hands, in a perfunctory way, and guided her visitor to a dark flight of stairs.  They ascended.  On the top floor the woman stopped and whispered: 

‘That’s the room.  Should I just look in first, mum?’

‘Please.’

Mrs. Gandle entered and came forth again.

’She seems to me to be asleep, mum.  She lays very still, and her eyes is shut.’

’I’ll go in.  I shall sit with her for an hour and then go to see the doctor.’

Mrs. Ormonde passed in.  It was a mean little room, not as tidy as it might have been. and far from as clean.  There on the low pillow was a pale face, with golden hair disordered about the brow; a face so wasted that it was not easy in the first moment to identify it with that which had been so wonderful in its spell-bound beauty by the sea-shore.  But it was Thyrza.

Her eyes were only half closed, and it was not a natural sleep that held her.  Mrs. Ormonde examined her for several moments, then just touched her forehead.  Thyrza stirred and muttered something, but gave no sign of consciousness.

The hour went by very slowly.  The traffic in the street was incessant and noisy; two men, who were selling coals from a cart, for a long time vied with each other in the utterance of roars drawn out in afflicting cadence.  Mrs. Ormonde now sat by the bed, regarding Thyrza, now went to the window and looked at the grimy houses opposite.  The prescribed interval had almost elapsed, when Thyrza suddenly raised herself and said with distinctness: