"You must endeavour to keep up his strength," replied Dr. Harding. "Plenty of good beef-tea—anything, in fact, that he fancies. You won't forget?"
"No," answered Mrs. Reardon, "I won't forget." She looked as if she should have liked to ask one more question, but had not the courage; and, while she was still hesitating, Dr. Harding got into his carriage and was driven away.
Mrs. Reardon held her apron to her eyes as she went upstairs, and never noticed a young girl with a pale wistful face and golden hair, who stood aside to let her pass, and looked as if she had been crying also.
When Dr. Harding saw Mrs. Browne, he told her that there was not the slightest fear of contagion.
"The poor man," said he, "is dying of rapid consumption. I should not be surprised to hear of his death at any moment."
"Do they appear to be very poor?" asked Mrs. Browne. "She always draws money for her work before it's quite finished. But many people do that. The poor are so improvident."
"I should say not, so far as I could judge. The room in which they were is as large again as this, with panelled walls old and a carved chimney-piece, quite in the old-fashioned style, although, to be sure, there was not much furniture in it. But the woman appeared to be neatly dressed, and everything looked very clean."
"And you really think that her husband is dying?" asked Mrs. Browne.
"He can't last much longer," replied Dr. Harding. "The poor fellow is wasted away to a shadow."
"I have a great mind not to let his wife have any more work until it is all over," said Mrs. Browne. "She will find quite enough to do, poor woman, with a sick husband to look after, and the work might get spoilt. I'll tell her so the next time she comes."