And then her mother came in and assured her
he had only inserted that advertisement to keep
her in his power. He has heard you are
recovering, and are admired by others more worthy
of your esteem.

Julia cried bitterly at these arguments, for she
could no longer combat them.

And Mr. Hurd was very attentive and kind.
And, when he spoke to Julia, and Julia turned
away, her eye was sure to meet Mrs. Dodd's eye
imploring her secretly not to discourage the
young man too much. And so she was gently
pulled by one, and gently thrust by another,
away from her first lover and towards his
successor.

It is an old, old story. Fate seems to
exhaust its malice on our first love. For the
second the road is smoother. Matters went on
so some weeks, and it was perfectly true that
Mr. Hurd escorted both ladies one day to Drayton
House, at Julia's request, and not Mrs.
Dodd's. Indeed, the latter lady was secretly
hurt at his being allowed to come with them.

One Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Dodd went alone
to Drayton House by appointment. David was
like a lamb, but, as usual, had no knowledge of
her. Mrs. Archbold told her a quiet, intelligent,
patient had taken a great fancy to him, and she
thought this was adding much to his happiness.
"May I see him to thank him," asked Mrs. Dodd.
"Oh, certainly," said Mrs. Archbold; "I'll
inquire for him." She went out, but soon
returned, saying, "He is gone out for a walk with
the head keeper: we give him as much air and
amusement as we can; we hope soon to send
him out altogether, cured." "Truly kind and
thoughtful," said Mrs. Dodd. Soon after, she
kissed Mrs. Archbold, and pressed a valuable
brooch upon her: and then took leave.
However, at the gate she remembered her parasol.
Mrs. Archbold said she would go back for it.
Mrs. Dodd would not hear of that: Mrs. Archbold
insisted, and settled the question by going.
She was no sooner in the house, than young
Frank Beverley came running to Mrs. Dodd,
and put the missing parasol officiously into her
hand. "Oh, thank you, sir," said she; "will
you be so kind as to tell Mrs. Archbold I have
it." And with this they parted, and the porter
opened the gate to her, and she got into her
hired cab. She leaned her head back, and, as
usual, was lost in the sorrowful thoughts of
what had been, and what now was. Poor wife,
each visit to Drayton House opened her
wound afresh. On reaching the stones, there
was a turnpike. This roused her up: she took
out her purse and paid it. As she drew back to
her seat, she saw out of the tail of her feminine
eye the edge of something white under her
parasol. She took up the parasol, and found a
written paper pinned on to it: she detached this
paper, and examined it all over with considerable
curiosity. It consisted of a long slip about an
inch and a quarter broad, rolled like tape, and
tied with packthread. She could not see the
inside, of course, but she read the superscription:
it was firmly but clearly written, in red ink
apparently.

Of the words I shall only say at present that
they were strong and simple, and that their
effect on the swift intelligence and tender heart
of Mrs. Dodd was overpowering. They knocked
at her heart; they drew from her an audible cry
of pity more eloquent than a thousand speeches:
and the next moment she felt a little faint; for
she knew now the appeal was not in red ink,
but in something very fit to pass between the
heart of woe and the heart of pity. She smelt
at her salts, and soon recovered that weakness:
and now her womanly bosom swelled so with the
milk of human kindness that her breath came
short. After a little struggle, she gushed out
aloud, "Ah, that I will, poor soul; this very
moment." Now, by this time she was close to
her own house.

She stopped the cab at her door, and asked
the driver if his horse was fresh enough to carry
her to the Board of Lunacy: "It is at Whitehall,
sir," said she. "Lord bless you, ma'am,"
said the cabman, "Whitehall? why my mare
would take you to Whitechapel and back in an
hour, let alone Whitehall."

Reassured on that point Mrs. Dodd went in
just to give the servant an order: but, as she
stood in the passage, she heard her children's
voices, and also a friend's; the genial, angry
tones of Alexander Sampson, M.D.

She thought, "Oh, I must just show them all
the paper, before I go with it;" and so after a
little buzz about dinner and things with Sarah,
mounted the stairs, and arrived among them
singularly apropos, as it happened.

Men like Sampson, who make many foes, do
also make stauncher friends than ever the Hare
does, and are faithful friends themselves. The
boisterous doctor had stuck to the Dodds in all
their distresses; and, if they were ever short of
money, it certainly was not his fault: for almost
his first word, when he found them in a lodging,
was, "Now, ye'll be wanting a Chick. Gimme
pen and ink, and I'll just draw ye one; for a
hundre." This being declined politely by Mrs.
Dodd, he expostulated. "Mai—dear—Madam,
how on airth can ye go on in such a place as
London without a Chick?"

He returned to the charge at his next visit,
and scolded her well for her pride. "Who iver
hard of refusing a chick? a small inoffensive
chick, from an old friend like me? Come now,
behave! Just a wee chick: I'll let y' off for
fifty."

"Give us your company and your friendship,"
said Mrs. Dodd; "we value them above gold:
we will not rob your dear children, while we have
as many fingers on our hands as other people."

On the present occasion Dr. Sampson, whose
affectionate respect for the leading London