There had been by this time many anxious tappings at the door. Miss Hofland had looked in with an anxious face; and little Rhoda, with eyes full of awe, had peeped round the edge of the door; and the housekeeper, with whispers and signs and that invariable cup of tea which is intended to be the consolation of the watcher. But Mary would not be beguiled for a moment from her child’s side; the danger was too near, the deliverance too great, to be trifled with. And the other great questions which had almost distracted her mind from Hetty came back as she waited. Hetty’s murmurs in the hour of recollection had strangely, fantastically strengthened her suspicions. Could she dare to recall Hetty, waking and restored to reason, to that awful remembrance? Whatever happened she could not risk her child. This question was put to rest later in the day by Hetty herself, who, very weak, scarcely able to move with physical exhaustion, lay still in her bed, regarding her mother with all a child’s beatitude. She had heard all the nursery stories again, Rhoda assisting as before, and laughed and cried and been happy in all the sweetness of convalescence over the little witticisms of baby. But later, when Rhoda, was sent away, Hetty lay very silent for a time, and then called her mother to her bedside. “Mamma,” she said, growing paler and deeply serious, “I wanted to ask you, could he take me for Rhoda? Could he be--could he be--Rhoda’s _father_, mamma?” “Hetty,” said Mary, taking her child’s hands, “could you repeat to me, my darling, quietly, without exciting yourself, what you told me in the night? What he said?” The colour came in a flood to Hetty’s face, then ebbed away, leaving her quite pale. She clasped her mother’s hands tight; and then she repeated slowly, like a lesson, “Oh, my child, my little darling! have I found you at latht?” “Oh, Hetty! God bless you, my dearest! Why did you say ‘at latht’?” Mary cried. Hetty looked at her mother with startled eyes. “I don’t know what I said. I said only what he said, mamma.” “Hetty,” cried Mary in great agitation, “I think God has sent us here, both you and me.” [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XXIV. THE INVALID GENTLEMAN.