"I am as good as my word, little Miss, in sending
you back what you lent me with many grateful
thanks for the loan, as I reached London safe and
have never touched a drop of drink since I seen
you, and am in work at my uncle's, which is good
of him to take me, and am getting good wages and
goes to church again. And my uncle has a chum
which is a street preacher, and comes along of
plenty of fellows like I was, and I told him of your
young fellow, Tommy Maxwell, and he will keep a
look-out for him. Tell the woman that fetched
you sharp away that I'll hold up my head with her
yet, and every night I asks God to bless you, for I
hopes I am getting on the right track again, and
thank you kindly for your talk, which is sticking to
me.
"Yours obediently,
"JACK GRAY."
Sir Edward laid the letter down in silence when he had finished reading it. Milly's face was radiant.
"I've never had a letter in my life before, uncle, but I don't quite understand all of it. Will you explain it to me?"
And this her uncle did, sending her upstairs at length to show it to nurse, but sitting wrapped in thought himself and leaving both his letters and breakfast untouched for some considerable time.
That same day he went out driving in the afternoon with a young horse, and returning home met a traction engine, at which the horse instantly took fright and bolted.
For some time Sir Edward kept steadily to his seat, and though powerless to check the animal's course was able to guide it; but in spite of all his efforts the trap was at last upset, and he was thrown violently to the ground. He had no groom with him, and the accident took place on a lonely road, so that it was not till an hour later that help came, in the shape of a farmer returning from market in his cart. He found Sir Edward unconscious, and the horse still feebly struggling to extricate himself from under the trap, which was badly broken.
It was about seven o'clock in the evening when Sir Edward was brought home, and he had three ribs broken, besides some very severe injuries to his head. The doctor wished to telegraph for a nurse from London, but Sir Edward had a horror of them, and having recovered consciousness shook his head vehemently when it was suggested; and so it ended in Milly's nurse volunteering to assist his valet in nursing him. Poor little Milly wandered about the house with Fritz at her heels in a very woe-begone fashion. What with the anxiety in her heart lest her uncle should die, and the absence of her nurse—who could spare little time now to look after her—she felt most forlorn, and her greatest comfort was to go down to the keeper's cottage and talk to Mrs. Maxwell.
Sir Edward was soon out of danger, but he was a long time recovering, and required most careful nursing. Milly begged and entreated to go in and see him, but this was not allowed. At last permission was given by the doctor for a very short visit, and the child stole in on tip-toe, but insisted upon taking a large brown paper parcel in with her, the contents of which were unknown to all except herself.
Softly she crept up to the bed and looked at her uncle's bandaged head and worn face with the greatest awe.
He put out his hand, which she took in hers, and then she said, her brown eyes fixed wistfully on his face,—