"Is it Betsy and me that you want to be thankful for? You as is our guarding angel, what made a man of Johnnie as can read most as well as the curate himself. And haven't every one of the nine of us, down to the babby, felt as if we had a angel under the roof for the last three weeks?" "Have I been three weeks ill?" "Three weeks, dear miss; seven days of 'em you wasn't in your head at all, and Dr. Ramsey weren't easy about you--weren't easy at all. It were inflammation of the brain." "And you out of your pittance--you have nursed me through all this?" "And proud to do it, miss." "But if I had died, who would make up to you the doctor's bill, or your own ease?" "Dear miss, don't!" His hard hand went up to wipe the starting tears. "If you had died, it's not us as would stop our mourning to think of the mite you cost us. You ain't like the rest of the Peerage--you comes down to we; you had a heart, so you had, and felt for we, and we never forgets that." "Kind John Doane, how shall I repay you?" She buried her face and wept. The cheerful crackle of a fagot fire came from the kitchen grate, long spurts of yellow light outlined upon the wall Mrs. Doane's figure as she danced the youngest toddler on her knee, and Margaret fell asleep to the words: "Dance to your daddy, My bonny babby; Dance to your daddy, Do, dear, do-o! You'll get a wee bit fishie, In a wee bit dishie, And a whirligigie, And a buttered scone!" CHAPTER XII. ST. UDO BRAND NOT DEAD. Margaret was sitting up at last in the bricklayer's doorway, muffled in shawls, and shuddering nervously at every jarring sound about her. A chariot was approaching the bricklayer's cottage from the village of Lynthorpe, and on its panel glittered the arms of Castle Brand. Already the coachman, Symonds, had seen the invalid at the door, and was talking to some one inside, and in the next minute the chariot was drawn up before the door, and the familiar figure of little Dr. Gay was stepping out. "Found at last, my dear girl!" cried he, radiantly; "and a fine search we have had of it. Bless my soul, though, you aren't too strong yet! Don't be frightened, dear." The thin, trembling hands were clasped nervously on the swelling breast. Margaret looked piteously around, as if for succor. "I need not be, I hope, sir," she said, faintly. "No, I'm sure not," cried the doctor, pressing her hand; "although you have contrived to hide yourself from us for eight months, just as though you did fear your old friends. But, now that you have failed so signally in your endeavor to work for your own bread, perhaps you will see your duty plain before you, and won't refuse to fulfill the will which has been so long and uselessly withstood. Hey! my dear?" The pale woman lifted her dark eyes resolutely, her delicate nostril quivered. "Dr. Gay," said she, "you must see that I am in no state to discuss business matters with you."