"Well, he bean't no better as I can see," returned the man. "You can tell the parson so."
"I didn't come from my father, I came for myself," said Harold stoutly; "and please we should like to see Jim if we may."
Husband and wife exchanged glances.
"Won't the young lady sit down?" asked Mrs. Hunt, after an instant's pause, dusting a chair for Helen with her apron.
"No, thank you," replied Helen, "we only came to see Jim, and we haven't much time."
"Let 'em go, then, if they wull," observed the man, answering his wife's unspoken question.
"He won't know you," said Mrs. Hunt, whose eyes were fixed on Helen's basket; "and it's no good giving him things he can't swallow. But if Master Harold and the young lady like to go upstairs they're welcome. He's lying in the room right atop of the stairs. You'll find the door open to keep the room cool."
The visitors needed no second bidding. Stumbling up the dark rotten staircase they soon found themselves in the room where, on a rough bed, Jim, with wide open, blank eyes, lay tossing and tumbling. The atmosphere here was less oppressive than that below, and through the tiny window a little breeze came, and the sunlight made one golden patch upon the rough, dirty floor.