her head shaking with a tremulous motion, as though she had St. Vitus’s dance.
“Will you post it for me?”
“Yes, sure I will, ma'am” replied Judith, taking the note which she held out. “But I fear it is too late to go to-night.”
“It cannot be helped: put it in the post at all risks. And you had better call on one of the medical gentlemen you spoke of, and ask him to come and see me.”
“I have been, ma'am,” replied Judith, in a glow of triumph. “He is following me down. And that’s his ring,” she added, as the bell was heard. “It is Mr. Stephen Grey, ma'am; Mr. Grey was not at home. Of the two brothers Mr. Stephen is the pleasantest, but they are both nice gentlemen. You can’t fail to like Mr. Stephen.”
She went out with the letter, glancing at the superscription. It was addressed to London, to Mrs. Smith. On the stairs she encountered Mr. Stephen Grey.
“I suppose I am too late for the post tonight, sir?” she asked. “It is a letter from the lady.”
Mr. Stephen took out his watch. “Not if you make a run for it, Judith. It wants four minutes to the time of closing.”
Judith ran off. She was light and active, one of those to whom running is easy; and she saved the post by half a minute. Mr. Stephen Grey meanwhile, putting the widow Gould aside with a merry nod, entered the room alone. Mrs. Crane was standing near the table, one hand lay on it, the other was pressed on her side, and her anxious, beautiful eyes were strained on the door. As they fell on the doctor an expression of relief came into her face. Mr. Stephen went up to her, wondering at her youth. He took one of her hands in his, and looked down with his reassuring smile.
“And now tell me all about what’s the matter?”
She kept his hand, as if there were protection in it, and the tears came into her eyes as she raised them to him, speaking in a whisper.
“I am in great pain: such pain! Do you think I shall die?”
“Die!” cheerily echoed Mr. Stephen. “Not you. You may talk about dying in some fifty or sixty years to come, perhaps; but not now. Come, sit down, and let us have a little quiet chat together.”
“You seem very kind, and I thank you,” she said; “but before going further, I ought to tell you that I am Mr. Carlton’s patient, for I had written to engage him before I knew he was away. I am came an entire stranger to South Wennock, and I had heard of Mr. Carlton’s skill from some friends.”
“Well, we will do the best we can for you until Mr. Carlton’s return, and then leave you in his hands. Are you quite alone?”
“It happens unfortunately that I am. I have just sent a note to the post to summon a friend. You see I never expected to be ill for the next two months.”
“And very likely you will not be,” returned Mr. Stephen. “When you shall have got half-a-dozen children about you, young lady, you will know what importance to attach to false alarms. Your husband is abroad, I hear?”
And she inclined her head in the affirmative.
But it was no false alarm. The lady got worse with every minute; and when Judith came back Mr. Stephen met her, coming forth from the bedroom.
“You must help me, Judith,” he said. “Dame Gould is utterly useless. First of all, look in the lady’s travelling trunk. She says there are baby’s clothes and other things there. Make haste over it.”
“I’ll do anything and everything I can, sir,” replied Judith; “but I’d make her useful. I have no patience with her.”
“I’ll make her useful in one way if I don’t in another. Where is she now?”
“Sitting on the stairs outside, sir, with her hands to her ears.”
“Oh!” said Mr. Stephen, and he went out to the widow.
“Mrs. Gould, you know Grote’s Buildings?”
“In course, sir, I do,” was the whimpered answer, as she rose. “Oh, sir, I’m shook!”
“Go there without delay: you can shake as you go along, you know. Ask for Mrs. Hutton, and desire her to come here to me immediately. Tell her the nature of the case.”
Mrs. Gould lost no time in starting, glad to be out of the house. She returned with a short, stout barrel of a woman, with grizzled hair and black eyes. She was attired in a light-coloured print gown, and went simpering into the room, carrying a bundle, and dropping curtsies to Mr. Stephen Grey. Mr. Stephen stared at the woman for a full minute, as if in disbelief of his own eyes, and his face turned to severity.
“Who sent for you, Mrs. Pepperfly?”
“Well, sir; please, sir, I came,” was the response, the curtseys dropping all the while. “You sent for Hutton, sir; but she were called out this afternoon; and I was a stopping at number three, and thought I might come in her place.”
“Hutton was called out this afternoon?”
“This very blessed afternoon what’s gone,