"What ails her, Sir?" asked Matthew, as Mr. Blane was going away. "D'yer think it's the tongue's done it?"
"That may have increased the fever but not caused it," was the reply.
"The faiver! Oh Lord; what's to be done now?"
What was to be done, indeed?
Jane gave up the house-work and tended her sister night and day, leaving Matthew and the girl to do as best they could without her, while for days Mrs. Marks struggled between life and death; then she grew better, the fever left her, and she lay weak as an infant, but otherwise progressing favourably.
One evening Jane came downstairs and took up her station opposite her brother-in-law, who, instead of rejoicing at the change, viewed her presence with a rueful face. When his wife was present he could sometimes forget Jane, but all alone it was impossible; move which way he would he was sensible her eyes were on him as she plied her knitting needles at her old work. How he hated that constant click, click!
"Did yer think t'was time for supper?" asked he presently, driven to say something to break the silence, becoming every moment more intolerable.
"No."
"How's the Missus this evening?"
"Better. She's asleep."