“Correct, Timothy,” said the youth referred to; “I can’t—hullo!”
This last exclamation was caused by his catching sight of Raby at the door. He had expected a lodger; but what was this apparition?
“Please come in,” said he, bewildered; “it’s a shocking room to ask you into, and—Timothy, introduce me to your friend.”
Raby smiled; and how the crippled lad thought it brightened the room! “Tim and I are friends,” said she, lifting up the child to give him a kiss. “I’m afraid you are very badly hurt. I heard of the fire as I came up.”
“No, I’m all right; I’m never very active. In fact, I can only move my hands and my head, as Timothy says. I can’t run, I’m a cripple. I shouldn’t be anything if it wasn’t for Jeff. Hullo, Jeff! wake up, old man!”
Raby started and turned pale as she raised her hand to prevent his waking the sleeper.
“No, please, don’t wake him; what did you say his name was?”
“Jeffreys—John Jeffreys—commonly called Jeff. He hauled me out of the fire last night, and guessed as little at the time who I was as I guessed who he was. I can’t believe it yet. It’s like a—”
“You haven’t told me your name,” said Raby faintly.
“Gerard Forrester, at your service. Hullo, I say, are you ill? Hi! Jeff, wake up, old man; you’re wanted.”