, drawing out their narration of the wonderful
things 'she' had done, the fingers pointing to designate who she was.
His look at her over his spectacles made Mary's heart bound and feel
compensated for whatever Mr. Henry Ward might say of her. When the
children had finished their story, he beckoned her out of the room,
promising them that he would not keep her long.

'Well done, Molly,' he said smiling, 'it is well to have daughters good
for something. You had better stay with them till that poor maid has
had her sleep out, and can come to them.'

'I should like to stay with them all day, only that Ethel must want me.'

'You had better go home by dinner-time, that Ethel may get some air.
Perhaps I shall want one of you in the evening to be with them at the
time of the funeral.'

'So soon!'

'Yes, it must be. Better for all, and Henry is glad it should be so.
He is out on the sofa to-day, but he is terribly cut up.'

'And Leonard?'

'I see some improvement--Burdon does not--but I think with Heaven's
good mercy we may drag him through; the pulse is rather better. Now I
must go. You'll not wait dinner for me.'

Mary spent the next hour in amusing the children by the fabrication of
the dolls' wardrobe, and had made them exceedingly fond of her, so that
there was a very poor welcome when their own Mary at length appeared,
much shocked at the duration of her own slumbers, and greatly obliged
to Miss May. The little girls would scarcely let Mary go, though she
pacified them by an assurance that she or her sister would come in the
evening.

'Don't let it be your sister. You come, and finish our dolls' frocks!'
and they hung about her, kissing her, and trying to extract a promise.

After sharing the burthen of depression, it was strange to return home
to so different a tone of spirits when she found Aubrey installed in
Ethel's room as his parlour, very white and weak, but overflowing with
languid fun. There was grief and sympathy for the poor Wards, and
anxious inquiries for Leonard; but it was not sorrow brought visibly
before him, and after the decorous space of commiseration, the smiles
were bright again, and Mary heard how her father had popped in to boast
of his daughter being 'as good as a house-maid, or as Miss
What's-her-name;' and her foray in the kitchen was more diverting to
Aubrey than she was as yet prepared to understand. 'Running away with
the buttered toast from under the nose of a charwoman!