And just as he was rejoicing over the cure which time and the fresh sea-breezes had effected, a new trouble presented itself.
The expenses of the trip and the long period of idleness had absorbed all his savings, and he saw the time approaching when the luxuries he had indulged his sick daughter in would be unobtainable, and the bare necessities of life would have to be earned with the sweat of his wrinkled brow and the labours of his old arms.
He thought about it night and day. What could he do?
The mystery was solved for him. It was destined that after the long labour of his years he should toil no more.
One morning he did not come to his daughter’s room as was his wont. He had waited on her hand and foot. He had risen first and done the menial work of the little rooms they rented in a side street. He had pottered about in his old-fashioned Country way, and put things ship-shape, and then gone up to the invalid’s room with a gentle step, carrying her a cup of tea made with his own hand.
One morning Bess woke and heard the clock strike.
It was an hour later than her father’s usual time to stand by her bedside.
Alarmed, she rose and dressed herself hurriedly, taxing her new-found strength.
She went across to his room, knocked, and received no answer.
She pushed the door open and ran to the bedside.