Meanwhile Jim Blewett had parted from his friend, and had returned to his lodgings. Clara, who had been evidently on the look-out for his arrival, met him at the door; and in a mysterious whisper asked him to walk into Mrs. Metherell's sitting-room.
"There is some one there waiting to see you," she explained.
"Who is it, Clara?"
"Some one called Mudford, sir."
Jim waited to hear no further, but hastened into the room, where he found his landlady in earnest conversation with a fresh-complexioned old man, evidently a countryman—no other than Mrs. Blundell's father.
"I am delighted to see you," Jim said cordially. "In fact, I don't know there is any one I would rather see!"
Old John Mudford took the young man's outstretched hand, and shook it heartily.
"Sir," he answered, "I am much indebted to you. You see I've replied to your letter by coming up to London. I'm no great hand at writing, so I thought I'd better come. This kind lady," he said, indicating Mrs. Metherell with a jerk of his thumb, "'as been tellin' me all about my poor maid an' 'er troubles. I knowed what it would be, an' I warned 'er to no purpose. Maybe I was too rough—well, I own I was! I saw things different in those days!"
"I'm sure if your daughter disobeyed you, she has repented it bitterly," Mrs. Metherell remarked. "I have known her for several years, and have deeply sympathised with her in her troubles."
The old man turned a grateful look upon the speaker as he said: "Ma'am, I feel that grateful to you, and to Mr. Blewett, that I can't find words to tell my feelings. If Dinah 'ad sent me a line, I would 'ave done all I could for 'er. If I spoke in anger long ago, I've repented of it ever since. The loss a' my maid was a sore trial, but maybe the Lord knew I wanted a lesson."