Meanwhile the strike continued with unabated force. Not a man was at work; every one refused to do a stroke unless he could be paid for it what he thought right, and left off his daily labour! when he chose. One, might have supposed, by the independence of the demands, that the men were the masters, North and Gass the servants. Privation was beginning to reign, garments grow scanty, faces pale and pinched. There was not so much as a sixpence for superfluities: and under that head in troubled times must be classed the attendance of a medical man. It will readily be understood, therefore, that this state of affairs did not contribute to the income of Dr. Rane.
One day, Mr. North, sitting on the short green bench in front of his choicest carnation bed, found two loving hands put round his neck from behind. He had been three parts asleep, and woke up slightly bewildered.
"Bessy, child, is it you?"
It was Mrs. Rane. Her footfall on the grass had not been heard. She wore a cool print dress and a black silk mantle; and her plain straw bonnet looked charming, around the pretty falling curls. Bessy looked quiet and simple at all times: and always a lady.
"Did I startle you, papa?"
"No, my dear. When I felt the arms, I thought it was Mary Dallory. She comes upon me without warning sometimes. Here's room, Bessy."
She sat down beside him. It was a very hot morning, and Bessy unfastened the strings of her bonnet. There was a slight look of weariness on her face as if she were just a little worried with home cares. In truth she felt so: but all for Oliver's sake. If the money did not come in so freely as to make matters easy, she did not mind it for herself, but for him.
"Papa, I have come to talk to you," she began, laying one of her hands affectionately on his knee. "It is about the tontine money. Oliver thinks that it might be paid to us conjointly; that it ought to be."
"I know he does," replied Mr. North. "It can't be done, Bessy."
Her countenance fell a little. "Do you think not, papa?"