her hair. Money spoils her. She was a nice
pleasant little girl, was Polly-my-Lamb Humpage,
before she got her fortune. Is it pride, now,
or— humph!— eh? But, excessive prudery is
almost as bad. If she cares about the boy, let
her send, like a frank Christian gentlewoman,
and ask for him. She'll get no more bulletins
from John Hartshorne, M.R.C.S."

Polly so far complied with the doctor's mental
suggestion, that she sent over a formal message
every other day, and received as formal a reply.

"The patient is much the same."

But, at the same time, it came to pass by some
mysterious arrangement, that no change in the
invalid, be it for worse or better, no faint syllables
that he had uttered, no wish that he had contrived
to express, was for many minutes unknown
to the tenants of number twenty-seven. Through
the same occult intervention, it became known
that the invalid was rapidly regaining strength.
Finally, by a ridiculous accident, Polly, who had
happened to take unwonted pains with her
toilette that day, chanced to be standing at the
window, when the corresponding casement
opposite suddenly became the frame of a little
pale-faced picture, with entreating eyes, looking
as if it begged pardon for being yet alive, and
was not too sure of obtaining it. Polly neither
started nor ran away. Had Mr. Hartshorne
been passing at the moment, and noticed the
gentle, gratulating look and pleasant smile with
which she greeted the convalescent, he would
have received her back to favour on the spot.

My lady, however, had no idea of pampering
her young— well!— say friend. So, with a little
care, she taught the young gentleman to understand
that it was of no earthly use to hold a
perpetual vigil— that, as no discreet fisherman
expects to snare a trout on a sunny day between
the hours of eleven and four— so no Polly was to
be seen contemplating the smiling landscape of
Jermyn-street, at any hour but the meridian.

Having educated her young worshipper thus
far, Polly felt it incumbent upon her as a faithful
teacher, not to break faith with her pupil.
Hence, these mid-day meetings recurred with
the regularity of clockwork, until (so extraordinary
a thing is habit!) I am persuaded that
either party would have forfeited dinner, rather
than foregone one moment of the allotted time.
What passed in these unspoken dialogues, I am
not in a position to state. All I know is, that
Miss Humpage woke one day from a reverie,
with a sudden start, to find that Mr. Arthur
Haggerdorn was restored to perfect health, and
to wonder what was to be done next.

The young lady's first feeling was one of
having lost something. She had experienced it,
she remembered, in a milder form, when, years
and years ago, she lost a pet goldfinch. Then
she felt angry, and a good deal injured, that
Arthur had not devised some fit means of informing
her that he was no longer entitled to the
indulgence due to a life in peril, and that he
wished the daily meetings to be discontinued.
It was excessively rude—most inconsiderate of
her feelings. He should quickly be brought to a
sense of the fault he had been guilty of. She
would never appear at the window again!

On the following day, Polly-my-Lamb engaged
herself particularly in her own room, examining
some lace, until past one o'clock, after which,
with a slightly-accelerated pulse, she stole down
stairs. Had he waited? How would he look?
Should she be satisfied with this slight punishment,
for the present, and withdraw herself more
gradually? At all events, since she had come
down—Why stay to reason? As if it were
within the bounds of possibility, O my Polly,
that you or any woman, under the circumstances,
would have come down, and not at least ascertained
if he was here! Go, "like a frank
Christian gentlewoman," and look at the boy
whom your love, under Providence, has kept
alive. For it's a terrible power committed to
your weak hand, that of wielding the entire
happiness of another's soul, and, if you use it
childishly, no after-wisdom can redeem the fault.

Half humbled, she crept to the window, and
gazed forth.

The blinds were closely drawn.

There was a strange quiet about the whole
house, which was ordinarily, it should be
observed, of somewhat gayer aspect than its
fellows, Mrs. Ascroft holding that birds and
flowers are excellent baits for lodgers, as evincing
gentle rural tastes in a landlady, a disposition
untainted by the sharp selfish life of London.
Not a leaf or a feather was to be seen. What
was yet more extraordinary, Polly, as her eyes
glanced from floor to floor, noticed with a sudden
tremor that the entire front might be considered
as closed, every sash being shut down, and every
blind drawn! What if he had suffered another
attack, and one that had proved fatal? That
she had been its proximate cause, was too frightful
a thought, nor was there as yet any reason to
subject her conscience to such a charge.

In spite of herself, a feeling of vague apprehension
took such hold upon her, that Polly had
to sit down, feeling very sick, and was presently
found in that position by Miss Serocold, who,
shocked at her ghastly face, ran to her, caught
her in her arms, and begged her to tell her what
was the matter. Finding that the young lady
would not or could not reply, my aunt became
seriously alarmed, and, ringing the bell, declared
her intention of sending to May-Fair for Doctor
Pettibone, the family physician.

Polly shook her head.

"But, my love, you must see some one. Such
an attack as this——Ha! how lucky! There's
that good little Hartshorne just leaving Mrs.
Ascroft's. The very sight of him is as good as a
vinaigrette. I'll wave my handkerchief. Ah, he
sees! Mercy! what a grave face! walks, too,
as though he were following the funeral of his
last patient. There's his knock."

Polly made no answer nor resistance. Her
heart was throbbing like that of a criminal about