But long before Garge’s mother had roused herself again her visitor had gone. The old woman was tired with the exertions she had made on her behalf, and had taken just the smallest drop of gin to quiet her own perturbed feelings before she turned into bed. But Nell had soon started up from her short, feverish slumber, and lain before the fire with wide-open eyes, staring at the flickering flames, and wondering what the next move of her unhappy life would be. The old woman’s words rang in her ears. ‘What! no father nor mother? Pore gal!’ How ungrateful it had been of her not to remember that she had both father and mother, before she took the fatal plunge which might have separated her from them for ever. Already she felt ashamed of her impetuosity and despair. She resolved, as she lay there, that she would go back to her parents and her home. She would return to Panty-cuckoo Farm, and try to forget that she had ever left it. It would be sweet, she thought feverishly, to smell the woodbine and the roses again--it would cool her brain to lie down on the dewy grass and press her hot cheek to the wild thyme and the daisies that bedecked it. Her mind was still in a bewildered and chaotic state, or Nell would have dreaded the questions that awaited her at Panty-cuckoo Farm; but, luckily, it led her in the right direction. A sudden horror of the publicity she had courted by her rash act took possession of her, and she panted to get up and away before the good Samaritans who had brought her back to life were able to gain any particulars regarding her name or former condition. With this desire strong upon her, she raised herself, weak as she was, and glanced at her surroundings. The logs still burnt brightly on the hearth; the old woman snored mellifluously on a pallet in the corner--for the rest, she was alone. The clothes they had taken off her were hung out to dry on a chair. Nell felt them. They were fit to put on again. She raised herself gently and resumed her attire, which consisted of a dark print dress, a black mantle and a large straw hat, which had not become detached from her head when she went under the water. But she could not go without leaving some token of her gratitude behind her. She felt in the pocket of her dress. Her purse was still there, and it contained several pounds. Nell took out two, and, wrapping them in a piece of paper, placed them in a conspicuous position on the chair. Then she crept softly across the cellar, and, climbing the stone steps that led to the entrance of the tenement, found, to her relief, that the outer door was ajar. There were too many people in the house, and they were of too lawless a kind for anyone to notice her departure, or think it singular if they had. The dawn was just breaking as Nell stepped into the open air; and, though she knew she must look very forlorn, the few wayfarers whom she encountered looked more forlorn still, and no one molested or questioned her. She