Dionysius, too, grew attached, though not precisely in the same way as if she had been twenty years younger. He was so good a young man, and so shy, that he failed, perhaps, to fill all the social uses of a curate, and grew somewhat out of intimacy with the younger ladies of his cure, who, though they saw him daily at matins, had learned not to look for his presence at garden parties and afternoon teas. Judith listened to him with so ardent an interest that he forgot his diffidence and reserve in conversing with her, and grew even eloquent at times, as he knew by the admiring reverence in her face; and then, in the gratification of appreciated merit, he would forget the disparity in their ages, and hail her as a sister spirit travelling the same heavenward road with himself. And so they continued to fare on together in amity and trust, the brother uttering words of wisdom, the sister accepting them humbly, and ignorant that they were leading her far from the truth according to St. Silas, where with her sister on Sundays she still went to church; for Judith's theological mind was of the emotional not the argumentative sort; though she loved to use the party catch-words, and believed she set great store by them, they conveyed to her no clearly defined ideas. Warmth was what she longed for, and friendship, and these she drew most readily from the curate of St. Wittikind.
The intimacy between the two might have gone on for ever unchanged, but at length Dionysius fell ill, and then the crisis in their friendship and their lives arrived. Judith called regularly at her friend's lodging to inquire for his health. By-and-by she had messages to carry him from his poor, she sat down by his bedside and conversed, and he declared himself so much refreshed by her visit that it would have been inhuman if she had not called again. She did call again, and again; and by-and-by she fell into the way of bringing jellies and little dainties to tempt the sick man's appetite. One day as he was dining on a warm and greasy broth, misnamed beef tea, he laid it down scarce tasted on her entrance, and with manifest disrelish pushed it away. Judith peered and sniffed at the ungrateful preparation, and pressed him to try her jelly instead. "I know how beef-tea should be made, and I shall bring your landlady a supply, and then she will only have to warm a little from time to time as you want it."
The next day Judith arrived, carrying upstairs with difficulty a large stone jar in a basket. In the study, which was also the ante-chamber to the sick-room, she encountered the landlady coming out. Mrs. McQuirter looked her full in the face, flushing indignantly and eyeing with a sniff and a toss of the head the jar which Judith was lifting with difficulty to the table.
"Good morning, Mrs. McQuirter," said Judith in her most conciliatory manner.
"Morning, miss," replied the other with a side-long glance which was far from friendly.
"How do you think Mr. Bunce is to-day, Mrs. McQuirter?"
"Guess you're going in, miss, and will see for yourself; so there's no good me telling you. You'd be sure to think you knew a deal better," and she sailed towards the door in her grandest style; then turning as if an idea had struck her, and as if fearing that she had not already been sufficiently provoking, she added:
"Say, miss! Is that sleigh as brought you and your basket still at the door? We've a deal of old crockery here as don't belong to us, and we'd be right glad to be rid on. Odd bowls, and plates, and chipped jelly glasses as don't match our sets, and make me feel kind o' mean when neighbours come in at dish-washing time with their 'Laws, Mrs. McQuirter, now! and where in goodness did you ever pick up all them cracked dishes?' If you're agreeable, I will just get 'em all together and send them back by the carman before they get broke, for it 'ud cost more than the valy of all the messes they brought here to replace 'em with new."
Judith felt indignant, and coloured deeply, but as to reply in kind would have been to raise a dragon in the path to her friend's bedside, she restrained herself, and merely answered: "By all means, Mrs. McQuirter. Kindly help me to lift this jar out of the basket, and then you can take it."
"And what may you be bringing here in your large crock, miss?" asked the landlady contemptuously. It seemed so impossible to irritate this old maid into the scolding match she thirsted for, that she was growing to despise as well as detest her.