Tiny half rose; and he was about offering his arm to conduct her back to the drawing-room, when a voice below arrested him.

"Don't stop me! I must see him. I know he is here."

"But you can't, you know. Here, Edward!"

It was one of the servants who called, but he was too late; the strange visitor had already reached the landing as Sir Hampton hurried down, aghast at such a daring interruption.

At that moment the woman uttered a cry of joy, and darted towards where Vanleigh stood with his companion.

"Oh, Arthur!" she cried, "they would not bring a message. I was obliged to force my way in."

"Who is this madwoman?" cried Vanleigh, turning of a waxy pallor, while Tiny clung to the bal.u.s.trade for support.

"Yes; mad--almost!" cried the woman, with a piteous cry. "But come-- come at once! She is praying to see you once more. Arthur, Arthur,"

she panted, sinking at his knees, and clasping them, "for G.o.d's sake, come--our darling is on the point of death!"

"Who is this woman? Er-rum--Edward--James!" cried Sir Hampton, "where are the police?"

"Don't touch me!" cried the unwelcome visitor, starting to her feet; and her words came panting from her breast. "Quiet, Arthur, or it's too late! Sir," she cried, turning to Sir Hampton, whose hand was on her arm, "I am Captain Vanleigh's wife!"

Volume 3, Chapter XVI.

TOO LATE.

Frank Pratt, the successful barrister, saw a portion of the scene from the pavement outside, where he formed one of the little crowd by the awning. He had been restlessly walking up and down, watching the lights and shadows on the blinds. He had gazed in at the open door at what seemed to him a paradise, as he heard the music and hum of conversation, scented the fragrance from flower and perfumes that floated out, and then called himself a miserable little beggar.

"Never mind," he said at last, lighting his pipe, and looking longingly at one of the tall obelisks by the door of a neighbouring mansion, and thinking what a capital perch it would make for him to sit and look on from--"never mind, bless her, she'll snub them like fun."

He felt better then, and saw Sir Felix and Vanleigh go up the carpeted steps without a pang. Ten times over he made up his mind to go and have a quiet little tavern supper, and then to his chambers and read; but he could not tear himself away; and so it was that he saw the arrival of the uninvited guest, and in the confusion that ensued witnessed something of what followed, standing aside to let Vanleigh come hurrying out, holding his neglected wife by the hand, furious, and yet too horror-stricken and remorseful to speak to her.

"A cab!" he shouted; and a minute after they entered, and the shabby screw was whipped into a gallop, and going in the direction of Pentonville.

Earlier in the evening Netta had seemed brighter, and had eaten heartily of some fruit Richard had fetched for her from Covent Garden. She was very weak, but she had begged to be dressed, and was lying upon the little couch; while Mrs Jenkles, after helping, had gone down into the kitchen, where Sam was sitting at his tea, to look at him very fixedly, and then her face began to twitch and work.

"She aint worse, is she?" said Sam, in an awe-stricken whisper.

"Oh, Sam, Sam," sobbed the poor woman, bursting into tears; "and her so young, too. It's very, very sad."

"I shan't go out to-night, then," said Sam, a little more hoa.r.s.ely than usual. "Ratty may have a holiday. It's a hill wind as blows n.o.body any good. If I do go to have a smoke, old woman, I shall be standing across the road in Mother Fiddison's doorway."

"Oh, Sam, it's very, very sad," sobbed Mrs Jenkles again; "and her so young. If it had been her mother or me!"

"Stow that, old gal," said Sam, with a choke. "If there's e'er a woman as can't be spared outer this here wicked world of pore cabmen and hard fares, it's you. What'd become o' me?"

"Oh, Sam," sobbed Mrs Jenkles from inside her ap.r.o.n.

"I should go to the bad in a week, old gal. I should never pa.s.s a corner public without dropping in; and at the end of six months there'd be a procession o' cabs follering a subscription funeral, raised by threepenny bits and tanners; and every cabby on the ranks'd have a little c.r.a.pe bow on his whip in memory o' Sam Jenkles, as drunk hisself to death."

"Don't, pray, Sam," sobbed his wife.

"It's true enough, missus; and I b'lieve the chaps 'd be sorry; while as for old Ratty, I b'lieve he'd cry."

"Sam!" sobbed his wife.

"I wonder," said Sam, dolefully, "whether they'd let the old 'oss follow like they do the soldiers, with my whip and boots hanging one side, and my old 'at on the other. Sh! here's Mrs Lane."

"Mrs Jenkles," cried their lodger, hurriedly, "go and ask Mr Lloyd to come over. She wants to see him."

"Is she worse, ma'am?"

The mother's lip quivered for reply; but after stifling a sob, she gasped--

"And ask Mr Reston, the doctor, to step in."

"I'll run for him, mum, while the missus fetches Mr Lloyd," said Sam, hurrying away.

A few minutes after, Richard ascended to Netta's room, to be received with a smile of pleasure, and he took the seat to which the poor girl pointed.

"Are you better to-night, my dear?" he said, kissing her gravely.

"Yes, much," she said, retaining his hand and keeping it pinioned between hers. "I want you to sit and talk to me to-night--mamma will like to hear--about our rides, and the woods and flowers. Ah, how little I've seen of the country and the flowers!"

She started as she caught a sigh from Mrs Lane.

"You could not help it, dear," she said, hastily. "Don't think me ungrateful. Come and kiss me, and tell me you don't."

Mrs Lane bent over her, and kissed her poor thin lips; and though the fount was nearly dry, a couple of burning tears fell upon the face of her child.

"If I could only be at rest about you," said Netta, drawing her mother closer to her, "I could be so happy. There, we've asked Mr Lloyd to come, and here is a welcome."

She half playfully pointed to a chair, and once more took Richard's hand between both hers, listening to him as he tried to talk cheerfully, not so much of the past as of trips to come, till, meeting her eyes, and seeing in them the sad, reproachful gaze of one who said "Why this deceit?" his voice grew husky, and he was silent.

"What's that?" said Netta, suddenly, as she heard steps below. "Oh, mamma, you have sent for him again--why did you?"

There was tender love in the reproachful smile--one which faded as the doctor entered, and Richard gave up his place to him.

He made but a brief stay, and was followed out of the room by Mrs Lane.

"Sit down again, Richard," said the girl, fondly. "Take those," she said, pointing to a pair of scissors on the table. "Now cut off that long piece of hair."

As she spoke she separated a long, dark brown tress and smilingly bent towards him as he divided it from her head.

"There," she said, smiling, as she knotted it together like so much silk; "give that to Tiny--some day--and tell her it was sent by one who had prayed night and day for her happiness and yours."

"Oh, my poor child!" groaned Richard, as he placed her gift in his pocket-book.

"And, Richard, when you are happy together, talk about me sometimes; you'll bring her to see where they have laid me--where I lie asleep?"

"For G.o.d's sake, do not talk like this, my darling!" he exclaimed; "I cannot bear it!"