"Here, my good landlady, take my wife to her room."
The landlady hobbled up.
"Room, sir, room? The gentleman didn't say nothing—"
"Take the lady to your best room upstairs," said Hugh, with a significant look.
Greta was going. Her step was slow and uncertain.
"Won't you say good-night, Greta?" said Hugh.
"Good-night," she said, so faintly as hardly to be heard.
The brothers looked after her.
"God bless her!" said Paul, fervently. "The days before her shall be brighter, if I can make them so."
Hugh Ritson closed the door.