She ushered the visitor into the clean, bright place, where Sam was seated by the fireside, looking very hard at his pipe.
“How do, sir, how do?” he said. “Take a cheer, sir.”
“Thanks, no, Sam, I’ll stand,” said Richard, quietly. “But where’s your pipe?”
“There it hangs, sir,” said Sam, folding his arms and looking at it.
“No tobacco?”
“Plenty, sir,” said Sam; “but I’ve put the pipe out at home, sir: cos why? It sets that poor gal a-coughing, and that spoils it. It’s a wonder, aint it, as doctors can’t do more?”
Further converse was cut short by the entrance of Mrs Jenkles, who beckoned their visitor to come, and he followed her upstairs to the neat little front room, where a pang shot through Richard as he saw the change. Netta was half lying on a couch, propped up by pillows, and beside her, on a table, were the two plants he had sent across, evidently carefully tended,—not a withered leaf to be seen amongst their luxuriant foliage, while she who had made them her care lay there, white, shrunken, and so changed.
There was a bright smile of pleasure flickering about her lips, and a ray of gladness flashing from her eyes, as she held out her hands to him—hands that he caught in his and kissed, as he sank on his knees by her side.
“My poor girl!” he exclaimed, huskily, “is it so bad as this?”
“I’m so glad you are come,” she whispered; and then she lay gazing at him, as if her very soul were passing from her eyes to his. “I’ve longed and prayed so for this. I thought once that it wasn’t to be—that I was never to see you again; but I’m better now.”