"She has gone downstairs; let me try what I can do. You must not wait, indeed, Mr. Calcott; your lips are turning blue and livid. I am used to nursing; I could lift mamma, and I have carried Emmie about so much lately." As she spoke Queenie skilfully raised the invalid and put the glass to his lips.
"If thine enemy hunger, feed him; and if he thirst, give him drink." Why did these words come into the sick man's mind as he felt the support of the strong young arm, and drank the reviving draught from her hand?
"There, you are better now," went on Queenie cheerfully, putting the pillow comfortably under his head. Mr. Calcott looked at her strangely, and then he was silent for a long time.
"You are poor," he began at last.
"Yes, we are very poor; you remember I told you so."
"Ah, true! I forgot all that. You are used to nursing too. Mrs. Morton is a very capable person, but I should like some one who would read to me and amuse me. I—" hesitating slightly—"I would pay you handsomely if you would come to me."
Queenie turned pale, and her eyes filled with tears. "Come to you at once?"
"To be sure. Do you think a dying man can talk about the future? I would make it worth your while," he continued, as though anticipating some objection. "You shall ask your own sum; I will buy your services at your own price."
"Hush! please don't talk so, you are only paining me; it is impossible. What? now! come at once! I could not leave Emmie."
"What folly!" he interrupted harshly. "Have you not told me that you are fighting single-handed against the world; that Emmie, as you call her, is next door to starving? Were these falsehoods? were you imposing on my credulity that you refuse real tangible help when it comes?"