"Yes—I am his sister," replied Ellen, eagerly catching at the hint with which the curiosity of the woman furnished her.
"Then I'm sure, my pretty dear," said the nurse, "there's no harm in seeing your brother. But stay—just step into this room for a moment—there's only one old woman in it,—while I go into the male Casualty and see that every thing's proper and decent to receive such a sweet creatur' as you are."
Thus speaking, Mrs. Jubkins threw open the door of a small room, into which she showed Ellen, who availed herself of that opportunity to slip a guinea into her hand.
Mrs. Jubkins expressed her thanks by a nod, and hurried away with the assurance that she should not be many minutes absent.
When the door had closed behind the nurse, Ellen surveyed, with a rapid glance, the room in which she now found herself.
It was small, but exquisitely clean and well ventilated. There were four beds in the place, only one of which was occupied.
Obeying a mechanical impulse, rather than any sentiment of curiosity, Ellen glanced towards that couch which was tenanted by an invalid; but she started with mingled surprise and horror as her own bright eyes encountered the glassy ones that stared at her from the pillow.
For a moment she averted her head as if from some loathsome spectacle; but again she looked towards the bed, to satisfy herself whether the suspicion which had struck her were correct or not.
Yes—that idea was indeed well-founded; for there—in a dying state, with her hideous countenance rendered ghastly by disease—lay the old hag of Golden Lane!
A faint attempt at a smile relaxed the rigid expression of the harridan's death-like face, as she recognised Ellen; and her toothless jaws moved for a moment as if she were endeavouring to speak:—but she evidently had not strength to utter a word.