“That does me good, nurse,” said the girl, clinging to her affectionately for a few moments, and then once more sitting up, to speak firmly. “It makes me feel after all that I am not alone, and that my dear, dead mother was right when she said, ‘Never part from Eliza. She is not our servant; she has always been our faithful, humble, trusty friend.’”
The woman’s face softened now, and a couple of tears stole down her cheeks.
“Now, nurse, we must talk and make our plans. I wish I could see Mr Garstang, and ask his advice.”
“Do you like Mr Garstang, my dear?” said the woman, gently.
“Yes; he is a gentleman. He seems to me the only one who can talk to me as what I am, and without thinking I am what they call me—an heiress.”
“But poor dear master never trusted Mr Garstang.”
“Perhaps he had no need to. He always treated him as a friend, and he has proved himself one to-day by the brave way in which he defended me, and spoke out to open my eyes to all this iniquity.”
“But dear master did not make him his executor.”
“How could he when he had his brother to think of? How could my dear father suspect that Uncle James would prove so base? It was a mistake. You ought to have heard Mr Garstang speak to-day.”
Eliza sighed.