“Let me get it for you,” cried Warburton.  “Nothing easier.  I noticed the kettle by the kitchen fire.”

“Oh, I cannot allow, you, Mr. Jollyman—­you are too kind—­I feel so ashamed—­”

But Will was already in the kitchen, where he bestirred himself so effectually that in a few minutes the kettle had begun to sing.  Just as he went back to the parlour, to ask where tea could be found, the front door opened, and in walked Bertha.

“Your daughter is here, Mrs. Cross,” said Will, in an undertone, stepping toward the limp and pallid lady.

“Bertha,” she cried.  “Bertha, are you there?  Oh, come and thank Mr. Jollyman!  If you knew what has happened whilst you were away!”

At the room door appeared the girl’s astonished face.  Warburton’s eyes fell upon her.

“It’s a wonder you find me alive, dear,” pursued the mother.  “If one of those blows had fallen on my head—!”

“Let me explain,” interposed Warburton quietly.  And in a few words he related the events of the afternoon.

“And Mr. Jollyman was just getting me a clip of tea, Bertha,” added Mrs. Cross.  “I do feel ashamed that he should have had such trouble.”

“Mr. Jollyman has been very kind indeed,” said Bertha, with look and tone of grave sincerity.  “I’m sure we cannot thank him enough.”

Warburton smiled as he met her glance.

“I feel rather guilty in the matter,” he said, “for it was I who suggested the servant.  If you will let me, I will do my best to atone by trying to find another and a better.”

“Run and make the tea, my dear,” said Mrs. Cross.  “Perhaps Mr. Jollyman will have a cup with us—­”

This invitation was declined.  Warburton sought for his hat, and took leave of the ladies, Mrs. Cross overwhelming him with gratitude, and Bertha murmuring a few embarrassed words.  As soon as he was gone, mother and daughter took hands affectionately, then embraced with more tenderness than for a long, long time.

“I shall never dare to live alone with a servant,” sobbed Mrs. Cross.  “If you leave me, I must go into lodgings, dear.”

“Hush, hush, mother,” replied the girl, in her gentlest voice.  “Of course I shall not leave you.

“Oh, the dreadful things I have been through!  It was drink, Bertha; that creature was a drunkard of the most dangerous kind.  She did her best to murder me.  I wonder I am not at this moment lying dead.—­ Oh, but the kindness of Mr. Jollyman!  What a good thing I sent for him!  And he speaks of finding us another servant; but, Bertha, I shall never try to manage a servant again—­never.  I shall always be afraid of them; I shall dread to give the simplest order.  You, my dear, must be the mistress of the house; indeed you must.  I give over everything into your hands.  I will never interfere; I won’t say a word, whatever fault I may have to find; not a word.  Oh, that creature; that horrible woman will haunt my dreams.