CHAPTER XVI.

A LATE VISITOR.

"I MUST go to-night," said the woman in a hoarse voice, rising from the chair into which she had sunk ere she had opened that letter which bore such sad tidings.

"You can't get there," said her husband. "It's ten o'clock now, and every one 'ull be in bed."

"If he's bad—" She tried to finish the sentence, but her dry tongue would not say the words.

"Perhaps he's better by now," said the man, not unkindly. "Mightn't you as well go the first thing to-morrow?"

"I daren't go out in daylight, as you know. No; I shall be away all to-morrow most likely, so you'll stay and mind him," glancing towards the corner.

"I'll see to that," said the man.

The woman put her hand to her head as if dazed.

"Take a drop o' tea, or somethin'," urged the man. "You're about beat. To think that there was a letter after all!"

"I somehow expected it," said his wife wearily. "Ought I to take anything with me? I'd near done those little knickers, but he'll never want them now."

"Oh, don't say so!" exclaimed the man.

She shook her head again. Then, after an instant's hesitation, she went to the bed in the corner and bent over it, and there was a sound in the still room as of a kiss.

The man looked on wondering. But in another moment, with a brief good-bye, the woman had gone noiselessly down the stairs and had let herself out into the darkness.

How she reached Highgate, she could never recall afterwards. Almost blindly she hurried along, helping her steps by an omnibus on which she happened to see Highgate written, and at length arrived at her destination long after the clocks had struck eleven.

Almost breathless she paused at the house she was seeking, and with anxious eyes gazed up at the windows. Darkness reigned, not a sign of light or life appeared in any of them.

She began to breathe more freely, and to chide herself for her frantic fears. All were evidently in bed and asleep.

But almost ere that thought had crossed her heart, came another which seemed to strike her with more terrible fear still. What if all should be over, and her boy should be dead?

She went up the front steps and took hold of the bell, but ere she had rung it, came another thought. She quickly turned from the door, and made her way up a side lane which was close by, and from that position scanned the back of the house.

At the very top, two windows seemed to have a dim light in the room belonging to them.

The woman put her hand to her heart as if with a sudden pang, and almost stumbling along in her eagerness, once more reached the front door, where she gave a low ring.

The sound went through the quiet house, and she heard it outside.

The minutes, though in reality they were very few, seemed very long before a light began to glimmer through the ground glass of the door, coming nearer and nearer.

Then a step was audible, and some one set the light down and undid the fastenings of the door.

The woman, who was grasping the stone balustrade for support, lifted her eyes to meet those of a sweet-looking nurse, who in snowy cap and apron stood holding the door in her hand.

"Are you—" she asked and paused. Then altering the form of her question, said gently, "What may you be wanting, ma'am? Have you come to see any one?"

The woman's lips formed some words, but they were inaudible.

"Perhaps you are my patient's mother?" suggested the nurse. Then seeing that this was the case, she held out her hand and led the woman into the hall, placed her in a chair, and carefully closed the front door.

"Then he is alive," the poor mother at last found voice to say.

"Yes, he is alive," answered the nurse.

"May I go to him?" asked the woman, starting up.

"Not yet. You are not fit to see him yet. Come in here, and I will tell you about him. Perhaps you will be able to quiet him better than I. He has something which is on his mind, I fear."

The woman hung her head, but then with a sudden passion she exclaimed, "It was no fault of his—no fault at all. It was all my doing! Oh! I have suffered for it—My boy! My boy!"

"Hush! If you wish to see him, you will have to be a great deal calmer than this. I will go back to him, and will fetch you in five minutes."

"Oh, let me come now!" besought the woman, rousing herself. "Oh, I will be calm, indeed I will."

"Wait an instant then," said the nurse in her sweet, calm tone.

She left the room and returned in a moment with a glass of milk, which she evidently expected the poor mother to drink, and which she held to her lips authoritatively, not noticing her reluctance. Then with a kind cheering word, in which she heard, "The dear Saviour has been here before you," she led the way up the quiet staircase, to that room where the dim light was burning.

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