Kirke laid her tenderly on the
bed. She caught one of his hands in her burning fingers. "Don't distress
mamma about me," she said. "Send for Norah." Kirke tried gently to
release his hand; but she only clasped it the more eagerly. He sat down
by the bedside to wait until it pleased her to release him. The woman
stood looking at them and crying, in a corner of the room. Kirke
observed her attentively. "Speak," he said, after an interval, in low,
quiet tones. "Speak in _her_ presence; and tell me the truth."
With many words, with many tears, the woman spoke.
She had let her first floor to the lady a fortnight since. The lady had
paid a week's rent, and had given the name of Gray. She had been out
from morning till night, for the first three days, and had come home
again, on every occasion, with a wretchedly weary, disappointed look.
The woman of the house had suspected that she was in hiding from her
friends, under a false name; and that she had been vainly trying to
raise money, or to get some employment, on the three days when she was
out for so long, and when she looked so disappointed on coming home.
However that might be, on the fourth day she had fallen ill, with
shivering fits and hot fits, turn and turn about.
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