"Nothing stops his wild talk till I kneel by him and hold his hand, and stroke his forehead; that is why I could not speak, sir." Then the child went up to the threshold of the door where Griselda still stood, and said: "I thought you would come—I felt sure, lady, you would come; but do not be afraid, he is asleep now, and may sleep for an hour."
Griselda felt ashamed of the disgust she could not conceal at what she saw. But the true womanly instinct asserted itself, and pointing to an open door leading into another garret, she said:
"May I go in there?"
"Yes, it is my room; it is where I put the clothes when I have mended them. The queen's gauze veil got torn, and I can mend gauze better than anyone, so Mrs. Betts gave it to me. Mrs. Betts is kind to me." Then seeing Griselda's puzzled look at the heterogeneous mass of finery heaped up on a table supported against the wall, as it was minus one leg, the child explained: "I mend the actresses' dresses. Mrs. Betts is the wardrobe keeper at the theatre, and she has had pity on me, or—or I think we should have starved."
"Well," Griselda said, "I have brought you money to buy food, and surely you want a fire; and where is your bed?"
The child pointed to a mattress in the corner under the sloping angle of the roof, and said:
"I sleep there most nights, but now he is so bad I watch by him."
Griselda opened her sachet and took from it a crimson silk purse.
"Here are two guineas," she said; "get all you want."
Norah clasped her hands in an ecstasy.