“I will knock at the door,” said Lucy, and so saying she walked up to the bedroom door, and tapped against it lightly. She repeated this for the third time before she was summoned in by a low hoarse voice, and then on entering she saw Mr. Crawley standing by the bedside with a book in his hand. He looked at her uncomfortably, in a manner which seemed to show that he was annoyed by this intrusion, and Lucy was aware that she had disturbed him while at prayers by the bedside of his wife. He came across the room, however, and shook hands with her, and answered her inquiries in his ordinary grave and solemn voice. “Mrs. Crawley is very ill,” he said, “very ill. God has stricken us heavily, but His will be done. But you had better not go to her, Miss Robarts. It is typhus.” The caution, however, was too late; for Lucy was already by the bedside, and had taken the hand of the sick woman, which had been extended on the coverlid to greet her. “Dear Miss Robarts,” said a weak voice; “this is very good of you; but it makes me unhappy to see you here.” Lucy lost no time in taking sundry matters into her own hands, and ascertaining what was most wanted in that wretched household. For it was wretched enough. Their only servant, a girl of sixteen, had been taken away by her mother as soon as it became known that Mrs. Crawley was ill with fever. The poor mother, to give her her due, had promised to come down morning and evening herself, to do such work as might be done in an hour or so; but she could not, she said, leave her child to catch the fever. And now, at the period of Lucy’s visit, no step had been taken to procure a nurse, Mr. Crawley having resolved to take upon himself the duties of that position. In his absolute ignorance of all sanatory measures, he had thrown himself on his knees to pray; and if prayers—true prayers—might succour his poor wife, of such succour she might be confident. Lucy, however, thought that other aid also was wanting to her. “If you can do anything for us,” said Mrs. Crawley, “let it be for the poor children.” “I will have them all moved from this till you are better,” said Lucy, boldly. “Moved!” said Mr. Crawley, who even now—even in his present strait—felt a repugnance to the idea that any one should relieve him of any portion of his burden. “Yes,” said Lucy; “I am sure it will be better that you should lose them for a week or two, till Mrs. Crawley may be able to leave her room.” “But where are they to go?” said he, very gloomily.