Even the owner of the shop could not help regarding her with some curiosity, after carefully examining the money.
"It's a dear time for grapes just now," said he.
"Is it! But then how fine they are!" replied Kate, holding them up admiringly.
"Poor thing!" exclaimed the woman, as she went out, carrying them carefully in her hand into the pitiless rain. "I hardly liked taking the money. She looks as if a meal's victuals would have done her more good."
"I don't see that it's any concern of ours," replied her husband, dropping the change into the till as he spoke. "If she wanted a meal's victuals, why didn't she get it instead of a bunch of hothouse grapes fit only for her betters?"
Mr. Heighington did not forgot his promise, but somehow it unfortunately happened that he lost the card upon which Matthew Reardon's address was written, and after a long and vain search was obliged to give up all hope of being able to find the place.
It was strange how old Peter Marshall lingered on from day to day. The hospital doctors, who had taken an interest in the case, and continued to visit him, said smilingly to each other—for they could smile, being used to such things—that they thought that "Death must have forgotten the old man." But he came at last, one cold grey morning just before the dawn. A ray of consciousness stole back to the dim shadowy eyes, and stretching out his hand as one feeling in the dark, he asked in a feeble voice for "Master Frank," just as if he had known that he had been watching over him all the time.
No one knew what passed between them in that brief and solemn interview. By-and-bye the household stir, the business of human life, recommenced; but the old clerk had entered into his rest—"the rest that remaineth for the people of God."
[CHAPTER XIII.]
TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF.