hing of the
sick woman.

Sick persons must be amused: and Tilda, after trying the patient
unsuccessfully with a few jokes from the _repertoire_ of her own
favourite clown, had fallen back upon "I love my love"--about the only
game known to her that dispensed with physical exertion.

"Sleepin', are you? . . . Well, I'll chance it and go on. I 'ate 'im
because he's 'aughty--or 'igh-born, if you like--"

The figure beneath the bedclothes did not stir. Tilda lifted herself an
inch higher on the elbow; lifted her voice too as she went on:

"And I'll take 'im to--'OLMNESS--"

She had been watching, expecting some effect. But it scared her when,
after a moment, the woman raised herself slowly, steadily, until
half-erect from the waist. A ray of the afternoon sun fell slantwise
from one of the high windows, and, crossed by it, her eyes blazed like
lamps in their sockets.

"--And feed 'im on 'am!" concluded Tilda hurriedly, slipping down within
her bedclothes and drawing them tight about her. For the apparition was
stretching out a hand. The hand drew nearer.

"It's--it's a name came into my 'ead," quavered the child.

"Who . . . told . . . you?" The fingers of the hand had hooked
themselves like a bird's claw.

"Told me yerself. I 'eard you, night before last, when you was talkin'
wild. . . . If you try to do me any 'arm, I'll call the Sister."

"Holmness?"

"_You_ said it. Strike me dead if you didn'!" Tilda fetched a grip on
herself; but the hand, its fingers closing on air, drew back and
dropped, as though cut off from the galvanising current. She had even
presence of mind to note that the other hand--the hand on which the body
propped itself, still half-erect, wore a plain ring of gold.
"You talked a lot about 'Olmness--and Arthur. 'Oo's Arthur?"

But the patient had fallen back, and lay breathing hard. When she spoke
again all the vibration had gone out of her voice.

"Tell them . . . Arthur . . . fetch Arthur . . . ." The words
tailed off into a whisper. Still the lips moved as though speech
fluttered upon them; but no speech came.

"You just tell me where he is, and maybe we'll fetch 'im," said Tilda
encouragingly.

The eyes, which had been fixed on the child's, and with just that look
you may note in a dog's eyes when he waits for his master's word,
wandered to the table by the bedside, and grew troubled, distressful.

"Which of 'em?" asked Tilda, touching the medicine bottles and gla