"I shall help her; and Lord Aldean has promised his assistance."
"Good fellow; you must let me do something too."
"My help is yours, Laurence," said Olive, softly.
A brisk walk soon brought them to Drabble's untidy home. In a room more slatternly than ever, they found the unsuspecting widow. She was, if possible, more worn and downcast than before.
"I'm sure I don't know what I should have done but for your kindness," she said to Olive. "But I expect the doctor will be back soon. It is too bad his leaving me destitute like this. The tradesmen won't send in food without money."
"Dear Mrs. Drabble," said Olive, touching her arm gently, "will you take me to your room? I have something to tell you."
The significance of Olive's tone was not lost upon her. "I hope--hope nothing is the matter with the doctor?" she said tremulously.
"I'll tell you in your own room," insisted Olive, leading her to the door.
"Excuse us, won't you, Mr. Mallow?" called back the widow; "and if the children should come in send them away. Danton is in bed with the mumps, and Margery has been converted. Please talk her back to some sense, Mr. Mallow, if you can. Dear, dear! my children are so dreadful."
Mallow sat quietly amid all the litter, in no wise inclined to laugh at these last words, albeit there was some humour in them. On all sides there was the noise of children creeping, scuffling, and whispering. At times a head would pop round the corner; its owner, meeting Mallow's eye, would shriek and scuttle away, and then would be swift scampering and a continuous patter as of hard little hoofs on a frosty soil. Shortly the door swung open to its widest, and Margery appeared, so astonishing a spectacle that Mallow could not but stare at the child. She was draped in a sheet; her feet were bare, and she carried a lighted candle.