"I'll be bound that it's plenty of talking to Harry that you do, and will do--particularly later on, when you're Mrs. Harry." "Doctor!" "What I mean was, have you made your fortune? or are you drawing pictures for your daily bread?" She looked at Mr. Talfourd quizzically. "I have one eye upon my daily bread." "And it isn't too much of it you see, by the looks of you. You're peaked, and you're thin." "Oh, doctor! I'm sure I'm not." "And I'm sure you are, and by virtue of my profession I ought to know. It's a pretty market to which you've brought your pigs. You might be one of the richest women in England, instead of being half-starved--with white cheeks and tired eyes." "Doctor, how dare you say such things! It's not true! You've not improved!" "I'm thinking you've not improved either. You've a stubborn heart. Why, all this time, haven't you let some of us know something about you?--if it was only where a line might reach you." "You know very well why, and I did go to see Mr. Grahame." "You went to see Cuthbert Grahame? When?" She mentioned the date. "Girl, you're dreaming. It was the day after that he died." "The day after that he died? I knew he was dead. I heard of it long afterwards by a side wind; but I have never heard any particulars. You none of you told me anything." "How were we to, when you'd hidden yourself from us in this great city?" "Of what did he die?" "If you ask what was on the certificate I can tell you; but if you want to know how death came to him you must inquire of his wife." "His wife?" "When he died he was a married man, according to the law of Scotland." "Dr. Twelves, are you jesting?" "I'm not. On the day he died he made a will leaving her all that he had in the world--and she had it." "Who was she?" "Beyond saying that she was no better than she ought to be, I can tell you nothing." "Was she some one from the neighbourhood?" "She was not; she was from England. She dropped from the clouds. I should say--if I may be allowed to do so in this company--on her road to hell. What passed between you and Cuthbert Grahame when you saw him on that day before he died?" "I didn't see him. Nannie wouldn't let me." "Nannie wouldn't let you?" "She would not. She said that Mr. Grahame had forbidden her to admit me into the house." "She's never spoken a word to me about it. What's been the matter with the woman? But there's something ails your story. That day, and for many days afterwards, she was lying in bed with a broken leg. Was it from her bedroom that she shouted out to you?" "From her bedroom?--nothing of the kind. She told me through the front door that Mr. Grahame had forbidden her to let me in. When I said that I would come in, and began to break the window to show that I was in earnest, she went to the window above, and poured two buckets of boiling water over me." "Margaret Wallace! it's dreaming you must have been."