Page:010 Once a week Volume X Dec 1863 to Jun 64.pdf/387

 26, 1864.]

“! what hour can that be?”

The question came from Mrs. Crane. She had been dozing, and awoke with a start at the striking of the Widow Gould’s kitchen clock.

“It is eight, ma'am,” replied Judith from her seat near the bed.

“Eight! why, you told me the London train came in at seven.”

“To Great Wennock it does, or, rather, a quarter before it. The omnibus gets here about half-past seven. It is in, I know, ma'am, for I saw it taking a passenger through the town.”

“Then where can she be?—the—the person I sent for yesterday,” returned Mrs. Crane in excitement; “she would get the letter this morning, and might have come off at once. You are sure you posted it in time last night, Judith?”

“Quite sure, ma'am; but there will be another train in late to-night.”

Mrs. Crane lay for a little time in thought. Presently she spoke again: “Judith, do you think my baby will live?”

“I don’t see why it should not, ma'am. It is certainly very little, but it seems quite healthy. I think it would have a better chance if you would nurse it, instead of letting it be brought up by hand.”

“But I have told you I cannot,” said Mrs. Crane, and the tone bore a peremptory sound. “It would not be convenient to me. Mrs. Smith will see all about it when she comes, and it is on his account, poor little fellow, that I am impatient for her. I am so pleased it’s a boy.”

“Ma'am, do you think you ought to talk so much?” asked Judith.

“Why should I not?” quickly returned the invalid. “I am as well as well can be: Mr. Stephen Grey said this afternoon he wished all his patients did as well as I am doing. Judith, I am glad I had Mr. Stephen Grey. What a kind man he is! He did nothing but cheer me up from first to last.”

“I think that is the great secret why all Mr. Stephen’s patients like him so much,” observed Judith.

“I am sure I like him,” was the lady’s answer “Mr. Carlton could not have done better for me than he has done.”

The evening and night passed, bringing not the expected visitor, and the invalid began to display symptoms of restlessness. On the following morning Mrs. Smith arrived, having evidently travelled by the night-train. This was Sunday; the baby having been born early on the Saturday morning. At least, some one arrived; a hard-featured, middle-aged woman, who was supposed by the household to be the Mrs. Smith expected. Mrs. Crane did not say, and caused herself to be shut up with the stranger.

The sitting-room and bed-room, it has been remarked, communicated with each other. Each had also a door opening on to rather a spacious landing, spacious in proportion to the size of the house. At one end of this landing was a large window that looked out on the street; at the other end, opposite, was a closet, and the doors of the two rooms were on one side; the railings of the balustrades were opposite the doors. It is as well to explain this, as you will find later.

Mrs. Pepperfly and Judith sat in the front room, the sitting-room, the stranger being shut up with the invalid. Their voices could be heard in conversation, it almost seemed in dispute. Mrs. Smith’s tones were full of what sounded like a mixture of lamentation, complaint, persuasion, remonstrance; and the sick lady’s were angry and retorting. The nurse was of a constitution to take things coolly, but Judith was apprehensive for the effect of the excitement on the invalid. Neither of them liked to interfere, Mrs. Crane having peremptorily ordered them not to disturb her with her friend. Suddenly the door between the two rooms was thrown open, and this friend appeared.

The nurse was lying back idly in her chair, jogging the infant on her lap with all the might of her two knees, after the approved nurse fashion; Judith sat at the window crimping a little cap border with as silver knife. Mrs. Smith, who had taken off neither bonnet nor shawl, caught up the child, and carrying it to the window, examined its face attentively.

“It is not like her,” she remarked to Judith, jerking her head in the direction Of the bed-room.

“How can you judge yet awhile?” asked Judith. “It’s nothing but a poor little mite at present.”

“Mite? I never saw such a mite! One