“Yes, my love,” and she dozed off. Half her time was spent in sleep. Since Mrs. North’s arrival there had stolen over her a gradual contentment, as if a crisis had occurred, and the blackness of the past grown dim. Perhaps it was giving place to all that was in her heart, or to the sound of Mrs. North’s fresh young voice, and the loving touch of her hand. Be it what it might, Alfred Wimple and the misery that he had caused seemed to have gone farther and farther away, while peacefulness was stealing over her. “It is like being with my dear Florence and Walter,” she said to Mrs. North once—“only perhaps you understand even better than they could, for you have gone through the pain.” “Yes, dear Aunt Anne, I have gone through the pain”—and Mrs. North sat waiting for the doctor again, not that she was very uneasy to-day, for the old lady was a little better, and hope grows up quickly when youth passes by. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER X. The sound of the door-bell, and of some one being shown into the drawing-room. “The doctor has come, Aunt Anne,” Mrs. North said. “I will invigorate myself with a talk before I bring him to you, and tell him that you are much better.” But instead of the doctor she found a little, dried-up-looking old gentleman standing in the middle of the room, holding his hat and umbrella in one hand. She looked at him inquiringly. “I understood that Mrs. Baines was here,” he said. Mrs. North looked up, with expectation. “I have come from London expressly to see her on important business. I was solicitor to the late Sir William Rammage,” he added. Mrs. North’s spirits revived. This looked like a new and exciting phase of the story. “Are you Mr. Boughton?” “I am Mr. Boughton,” and he made her a formal little bow. “I see you understand——” “Oh yes,” she said eagerly; “and the ex-Lord Mayor was the old lady’s cousin. I regret to say that she is very ill in bed, and cannot possibly see you, but I should be happy to deliver any message.” Mr. Boughton looked at her, with benevolent criticism, and thought her a most beautiful young woman. She meanwhile grasped the whole situation to her own satisfaction. That horrid Lord Mayor, as she mentally called Sir William, had probably told his solicitor all about Alfred Wimple; and the little dried-up gentleman before her, who was (as she had instantly remembered) the uncle, had come to see how the land lay. Mrs. North felt as convinced as Sir William had done that the whole affair was a conspiracy between the uncle and nephew, and she promptly determined to make Mr. Boughton as uncomfortable as possible. “I quite understand the business on which you have come to see Mrs. Baines,” she said, with decision, but with a twinkle of mischief she could not help in her eyes. “You have heard, of course, that the conduct of your delightful nephew, Mr. Alfred Wimple, is entirely found out.”