“I’m sure of it,” replied her ladyship; “but you have done for me what money can never repay. I shall not lose sight of you; but I must not stop now. God bless and reward you;—and oh, give up the drink, the wretched drink, which has been my poor boy’s ruin, and come for pardon and peace to your gracious Saviour.”
“Ah!” muttered the old creature, as she turned back to her miserable garret, fondly eyeing the golden treasure which she grasped tight with her withered fingers; “it’s easier said nor done, my lady. Give up the drink? No, it cannot be. Come to my gracious Saviour? Ah! I used to hear words like those when I were a little ’un, but the drink’s drowned ’em out of my heart long since. I’m too old now. Give up the drink! No; not till the drink gives me up. It’s got me, and it’s like to keep me. It’s taken all I’ve had—husband, children, home, money—and it’ll have all the rest afore it’s done. I must just put this safe by, and then I’ll go and wet my lips with a quartern o’ mountain dew. It’s a rare thing, is the drink; it’s meat and drink too, and lodging and firing and all.”
In the meanwhile the cab sped swiftly on its way to the Albion Hotel, and from thence to the lodgings, where Sir Thomas was anxiously waiting their arrival. They carried the sufferer up to his bed-room. What a contrast to the miserable, polluted chamber from which Lady Oldfield had just rescued him! Here all was cleanliness and comfort, with abundant light and ventilation, and a civil and experienced nurse waited to take charge of the unhappy patient. Having parted with the superintendent with many heartfelt expressions of gratitude, Sir Thomas, Lady Oldfield, and the doctor proceeded to the sick-room. Frank lay back on the snow-white pillow, pale and motionless, his eyes closed, his lips apart. Oh! was he dead? Had the shock been too much for his enfeebled body? Had they found him only to lose him at once for ever? Sir Thomas and his wife approached the bed with beating hearts. No; there was life still; the lips moved, and the hectic of the fever returned to the cheeks. Then the eyes opened wide, and Frank sprang up into a sitting posture.
“Frank, Frank, don’t you know me?” asked Sir Thomas, in a voice of keen distress.
“Know you? No; I never saw you before. Where’s Juniper? Come here, old fellow. You’re a regular trump, and no mistake. Give us some brandy. That’s the right sort of stuff; ain’t it, old gentleman?” said Frank, glaring at his father, and uttering a wild laugh.
“This is terrible, terrible!” groaned the baronet. “Doctor, what can we do?”
The medical man looked very grave.
“We must keep him as quiet as possible,” he replied; “but it’s a bad case. He’s a bad subject, unhappily, because of his intemperate habits. I hope we shall reduce the fever; but what I fear most is the after exhaustion.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Lady Oldfield, “if he would only know us—if he would only speak rationally—if he would only keep from these dreadful ramblings about spirits and drinking! It breaks my heart to hear him speak as he does. Oh! I could bear to lose him now, though we have just found him, if I could only feel that he was coming back, like the poor prodigal, in penitence to his heavenly Father.”
“You must calm yourself, madam,” said the doctor; “we must hope that it will be so. Remember, he is not responsible for the words he now utters; they are only the ravings of delirium.”