Nan looked after her, and a little sob came into her throat. Suddenly she ran from us towards the living emblem of human sorrow, shame, and woe. We followed slowly, divining the impulse that led her on.
We saw her take the woman’s hand, we saw the woman try to snatch it away, but Nan held it fast. Standing a little apart from them, we saw that Nan was speaking tenderly; the light shone upon her upturned face, and, as the woman’s eyes rested upon it, the hard, rebellious look softened; her lips quivered, and her limbs trembled so, that she could hardly keep herself from falling.
Nan took out her poor, common purse, and pressed a coin or two into the woman’s hand. God knows it could have been very little, perhaps sixpence or eightpence, but had it been wealth untold, it would not have enhanced the sweetness of the act.
“Thank yer, miss,” we heard the woman say. “I can pay for a bed now. God bless yer!”
There were tears on Nan’s face, when she joined us. We walked on in silence for many minutes. Then Nick put his arm round Nan’s neck and kissed her.
“Dear Nan!” he whispered.
“Dear Nick!” she murmured.
Well, that was very nearly the last I had to do with them as boy and girl. Before the New Year I was laid up in a hospital with rheumatic fever, and remained there a good many months. Some part of the time I was delirious, and the last Christmas Eve I had spent with Nick and Nan came back to my fevered mind in all sorts of ways, and I never saw Nan’s sweet phantom face, that it did not soothe me and ease my pain. When I got about, I heard news that cut me to the heart. What it was, I must leave to another to relate.
David Dix.