"It's time some one did," said Mrs. Sykes volubly, "for she be half-starved, poor thing, and now redoocing herself with fever. These 'ere hartists be very slow at makin' a livin'. Can't do it nohow. Only comes to grief."
With swift light steps, the visitor made her way to Jean's room. She drew a quick breath, as she took in with one glance the bareness and poverty of her surroundings. Then she bent over the invalid. Jean was breathing softly, and a smile was on her lips, but her face, with its hot fever-flush, looked almost transparent, and her cheek-bones showed prominently through their thin covering.
"Underneath—the everlasting arms," she murmured. And then she opened her eyes, and a quick, surprised light of recognition sprang into them.
"Barbara! You! Oh, how good of God!"
Barbara steadied her voice, for she had been near tears, but she was well versed in a sick-room, and was quite aware of the necessity of self-control.
"Yes, dear, I have come to nurse you, and I shall not leave you till you are well again."
Jean took hold of her hand.
"Can Chris spare you?"
"Perfectly. You wonder how I knew about you? Mr. Oxton came down to us and told us. He is going to stay and help with the farm, till I go back. He loves farming, you know, and Mick will be very glad to have him. Now I must leave you for a minute, while I have my luggage brought up."
She slipped away, and after a few minutes' talk with Mrs. Sykes, engaged a room for herself next to Jean's. Then after depositing her belongings in it, she walked out of the house. Half an hour later, she returned with her hands full of purchases. Jean was drowsy when she came back to her, and Barbara did not disturb her. She turned her attention to the oil-stove, and presently came up to her.