“Don’t be afraid of anything. Be quiet, and rest on this blessed Sabbath day. To-morrow, when you look into your affairs, I think you will find that you are not in debt at all, except to Adler, who must have advanced a month’s rent before he secured this room for you again—not that he has said anything about it, though.”
“Well, I have enough to pay him, but the hospital——”
“You were in the free ward there.”
Harcourt’s pale face flushed crimson.
“In the pauper ward?” he murmured.
“You could not help being there. It was not your fault. Why should a man mind that, if it is not his fault?” inquired Annie.
“Why, indeed?” assented Harcourt humbly.
“Besides, if you do not like to rest under an obligation, you can, when you are able, make some donation to the hospital that may cover the cost of your treatment there. And now that you have finished your soup you must lie down and try to sleep, and I will take these things into my room and wash them up,” said Annie, and she also rose and went away.
Harcourt stretched himself on his bed, but he did not go to sleep.
His mind was full of anxiety. It was now four months since that fraudulent marriage ceremony—four months since he had seen or heard from his mother or written to her.