"Then I will come with you, father," said Connie. "We'll both go together and find Sue."

As Pickles was entering the house he popped his head out again.

"I forgot to mention," he said, "as hinquiries o' the most strict and dertective character 'ave been inst.i.tooted by yer 'umble sarvant for poor Cinderella--I mean Sue. They've led to no results. There's nothing now but one o' the hospitals."

It is very doubtful whether Pickles believed himself the clue he had unexpectedly given to Harris and Connie, but certain it is that they immediately began their investigations in those quarters. From one hospital to another they went, until at last they found Sue in bed in St. Thomas's Hospital--flushed, feverish, struggling still to hide her secret in order that when she was better she might save Peter Harris.

The poor child was rather worse than usual that evening, and the surgeon who had set her leg was slightly anxious at her feverish symptoms. He said to the nurse who was taking charge of the little girl:

"That child has a secret on her mind, and it is r.e.t.a.r.ding her recovery.

Do you know anything about her?"

"No, sir. It is very awkward," said the nurse, "but from the first she has refused to give her name, calling herself nothing but Cinderella."

"Well," said the doctor, "but Cinderella--she doesn't seem touched in the head?"

"Oh no," said the nurse; "it isn't that. She's the most sensible, patient child we have in the ward. But it's pitiful to see her when she thinks no one is listening. Nothing comforts her but to hear Big Ben strike. She always cheers up at that, and murmurs something below her breath which no one can catch."

"Well, nurse," said the doctor, "the very best thing would be to relieve her mind--to get her to tell you who her people are, and to confide any secret which troubles her to you."

"I will try," said the nurse.

She went upstairs after her interview with the doctor, and bending over Sue, took her hot hand and said gently:

"I wish, little Cinderella, you would tell me something about yourself."

"There's naught to tell," said Sue.

"But--you'll forgive me--I am sure there is."

"Ef you was to ask me for ever, I wouldn't tell then," said Sue.

"Ah! I guessed--there is something."

"Yes--some'ut--but I can't bear it--the Woice in the air is so beautiful."

"What voice?" asked the nurse, who feared that her little patient would suddenly become delirious.

"It's Big Ben hisself is talkin' to me and to my darling, darling little brother."

"Oh! you have a little brother, Cinderella?"

"Yus, a cripple. But don't ask me no more. The Woice gives me strength, and I won't niver, niver tell."

"What does Big Ben say? I don't understand."

"No," said Sue; "and p'r'aps ye're not wanted to understand. It's for me and for him, poor darling, that Woice is a real comfort."

The nurse left her little charge a few minutes afterwards. But before she went off duty she spoke to the night nurse, and confessed that she was anxious about the child, who ought to be recovering, and certainly would but for this great weight of trouble on her mind.

All these things, which seemed in themselves unimportant, bore directly on immediate events; for when Connie and Harris arrived at St. Thomas's Hospital and made inquiries with regard to a little, freckled girl, with an honest face and st.u.r.dy figure, the hall porter went to communicate with one of the nurses, and the nurse he communicated with turned out to be the night nurse in the very ward where Sue was lying--so suffering, so ill and sorely tried.

Now, the nurse, instead of sending word that this was not the hour for visiting patients, took the trouble to go downstairs herself and to interview Connie and her father. Connie gave a faithful description of Sue, and then the nurse admitted that there was a little girl in the hospital who was now in the children's surgical ward. She had been brought in a day or two ago, having a broken leg, owing to a street accident. She was a very patient, good child, but there was something strange about her--nothing would induce her to tell her name.

"Then what do you call her?" asked Harris.

He was still full of inward tremors, for at that moment he was thinking that of all the sweet sights on earth, that sight would be little Sue's plain face.

"Have yer no name for the pore child?" he repeated.

"Yes," said the nurse. "She calls herself Cinderella."

"It's Sue! It's Sue herself father! G.o.d has led us to her--and it's Sue her very own self!"

Poor Connie, who had borne up during so many adventures, who had faced the worst steadfastly and without fear, broke down utterly now. She flung herself into her father's arms and sobbed.

"Hush, wench hush!" said the rough man. "I am willin' to do hall that is necessary.--Now then, nurse," he continued, "you see my gel--she's rather upset 'bout that pore Cinderella upstairs. But 'ave yer nothing else to say 'bout her?"

"She acts in a strange way," said the nurse. "The only thing that comforts her is the sound of Big Ben when he strikes the hour. And she did speak about a little cripple brother."

"Can us see her?" asked Connie just then.

"It is certainly against the rules, but--will you stay here for a few minutes and I'll speak to the ward superintendent?"

The nurse went upstairs. She soon returned.

"Sister Elizabeth has given you permission to come up and see the child for a few minutes. This, remember, is absolutely against the ordinary rules; but her case is exceptional, and if you can give her relief of mind, so much the better."

Then Connie and her father followed the nurse up the wide, clean stairs, and down the wide, spotless-looking corridors, until they softly entered a room where many children were lying, some asleep, some tossing from side to side with pain.

Sue's little bed was the fifth from the door, and Sue was lying on her back, listening intently, for Big Ben would soon proclaim the hour. She did not turn her head when the nurse and the two who were seeking her entered the ward; but by-and-by a voice, not Big Ben's, sounded on her ear, and Connie flung herself by her side and covered her hand with kisses.

"You don't think, Sue, do yer," said Connie, "that _us_ could stop seekin' yer until we found yer?"

Sue gave a startled cry.

"Connie--Connie! Oh Connie! 'ow is Giles?"

"'E wants yer more than anything in all the world."

"Then he--he's--still alive?"

"Yus, he's still alive; but he wants yer. He thought you was in the country, gettin' pretty rooms for you and him. But oh, Sue! he's goin'

to a more beautiful country now."

Sue didn't cry. She was about to say something, when Harris bent forward.

"G.o.d in 'eaven bless yer!" he said in a husky voice. "G.o.d in 'eaven give back yer strength for that n.o.ble deed yer ha' done for me an' mine! But it's all at an end now, Susan--all at an end--for I myself 'ave tuk the matter in 'and, an' hall you 'as to do is to get well as fast as ever yer can for the sake o' Giles."