Dr McTougall felt as I did in the matter, and so did his friend the City man. I had half expected that Dobson would have laughed at us for what he sometimes styled our softness, because he had so much to do with sharpers and sharp practice, but I was mistaken. He quite agreed with us in our opinion of my little waif, and spoke admiringly of those who sought, through evil and good report, to rescue our “City Arabs” from destruction. And Dobson did more than speak: he gave liberally out of his ample fortune to the good cause.
That evening, just after the gas was lighted, while I was lying on the sofa thinking of these things, and toying with Dumps’s ears, the door opened and Mrs McTougall entered, with Miss Blythe leaning on her arm. It was the first time she had come down to the drawing-room since her illness. She was thin, and pale, but to my mind more beautiful than ever, for her brown eyes seemed to grow larger and more lustrous as they beamed upon me.
I leaped up, sending an agonising shoot of pain through my leg, and hastened to meet her. Dumps, as if jealous of me, sprang wildly on before, and danced round his mistress in a whirlwind of delight.
“I am so glad to see you, Miss Blythe,” I stammered; “I had feared the consequences of that terrible night—that rude descent. You—you—are better, I—”
“Thank you; very much better,” she replied, with a sweet smile; “and how shall I ever express my debt of gratitude to you, Mr Mellon?”
She extended her delicate hand. I grasped it; she shook mine heartily.
That shake fixed my fate. No doubt it was the simple and natural expression of a grateful heart for a really important service; but I cared nothing about that. She blushed as I looked at her, and stooped to pat the jealous and impatient Dumps.
“Sit here, darling, on this easy-chair,” said Mrs McTougall; “you know the doctor allows you only half an hour—or an hour at most—to-night; you may be up longer to-morrow. There; and you are not to speak much, remember.—Mr Mellon, you must address yourself to me. Lilly is only allowed to listen.
“Yes, as you truly said, Mr Mellon,” continued the good lady, who was somewhat garrulous, “her descent was rough, and indeed, so was mine. Oh! I shall never forget that rough monster into whose arms you thrust me that awful night; but he was a brave and strong monster too. He just gathered me up like a bundle of clothes, and went crashing down the blazing stair, through fire and smoke—and through bricks and mortar too, it seemed to me, from the noise and shocks. But we came out safe, thank God, and I had not a scratch, though I noticed that my monster’s hair and beard were on fire, and his face was cut and bleeding. I can’t think how he carried me so safely.”
“Ah! the firemen have a knack of doing that sort of thing,” said I, speaking to Mrs McTougall, but looking at Lilly Blythe.