"Can I have a cheque for five hundred pounds?" Ida asked, timidly.
"Five thousand, fifty thousand, my dear!" he responded, promptly, and with no little pride and satisfaction.
"Five hundred will do—for the present," she said a little nervously.
"Perhaps the porter will let you draw it out."
Still puzzled, Mr. Wordley went into the porter's box and took out his cheque-book.
"Make it payable to the hospital—and give it to me, please," said Ida, in a low voice.
The old man's face cleared, and he nodded.
"Of course, of course! God bless you, my dear! I might have known what was in that good, grateful heart of yours. See here, I've made it out for a thousand pounds. That's five hundred for you and five hundred for me—and don't you say a word to stop me; for I'm only too grateful for the idea. It will cool me down; and upon my word, I feel so excited, so above and beyond myself that I want some safety-valve like this, or I should fall to dancing in the hall and so disgrace myself and the noble profession to which I belong."
With the folded cheque in her hand Ida took him up the many stone steps to the Alexandra ward. The gentle-eyed sister, who had parted from her so reluctantly, was naturally surprised to see her return so soon, and accompanied by a fatherly and prosperous old gentleman, who kept close to her as if he were afraid she might be spirited from him.
"I have come back to—to say good-bye again, sister," said Ida, her voice faltering a little, but her eyes beaming as they had not beamed for many a day; "and I want to give you something, something for the hospital—it is from my dear friend here, Mr. Wordley, who has just found me. And I want you not to open it until we have gone—say, for half an hour. And I am going to write to you as I promised; and you can write to me if you will be so kind; for I can give you the address now. It is on the back of the cheque."
She had written it in the porter's box.