And so on till the curate rose and left the cottage.
That night he was on his way to London, after sending a line to Hallam to say that upon second thoughts he had considered it better to go up to town alone.
Three days passed with nothing more exciting than a few inquiries after Hallam’s health, the most assiduous inquirer being Miss Heathery, who called again on the third evening.
“I know you think me a very silly little woman, Millicent, my dear, and I’m afraid that perhaps I am, but I do like you, and I should like to help you now you are in trouble.”
“I always did, and always shall, think you one of my best and kindest friends, Miss Heathery,” replied Millicent, kissing her.
“Now, that’s very kind of you, my dear. It’s touching,” said Miss Heathery, wiping her eyes. “You do think me then a very dear friend?” she said, clinging to Mrs Hallam, and gazing plaintively in her face.
“Indeed I do.”
“Then may I make a confidant like of you, dear?”
“Yes, certainly,” said Millicent.
“But first of all, can I help you nurse Mr Hallam, or take care of Julie?”