‘Yes, sir; she is. She never recovered the shock of Georgina, my sister, getting her front floor away through calumny, and she went over and stood in the cold a-shouting down the area at her, and got bronchitis, and is now an angel.’
‘Indeed,’ said George; ‘I’m very glad—or rather, I mean, I’m very sorry. If I want any private inquiries made I’ll think of you.’
‘Thank you, squire. I thought I’d come to you for the sake of old acquaintance. We always made you and the missus as comfortable as we could when you was lodging with us. Thank you, sir; you won’t forget if you should, will you? Good day, sir!’
Mr. Jabez bowed to George, took off his hat to Gertie, gave his head another mop, and waddled slowly out of sight.
Inside the house Bess and Ruth sat together talking. They had grown to look upon one another as sisters, for the bonds which had united them in a dark hour of peril to both had grown firmer now the tempest was over and the light had come again.
And, talking, they spoke of Gertie.
‘God’s ways have been mysterious,’ said Ruth. ‘How little did I think when I rescued her from that den of wickedness in Little Queer Street and let my home be hers, that one day she would repay me a hundredfold, and that when I became penniless and without a friend the child I reared would take me to her arms and make me the chosen inmate of her home, the guardian of her wealth, and that through her noble generosity my mother’s declining years would be cheered and all care for her future and for mine be spared to me!’
As George drove Bess back to the Hall the young squire told his wife of Duck’s strange visit and request.
‘It gave me quite a shock, Bess,’ he said: ‘it brought back the old story so vividly to my mind.’