The child knew when her father's dark eyes flashed like that, and he spoke in the tones of tragedy, that remonstrance was useless; and the doctor said he was never to be excited or contradicted, or he might lose his senses altogether. "As you please, father," Norah said meekly, and then returned to her needlework; and the heavy breathing in the corner where the bed was placed told that her father slept. About noon there was a sound of feet on the stairs, and a tap at the door, and a curly head was thrust in. Norah held up her finger and pointed to the bed, but said in a low whisper: "Come in, Brian." "I've brought you my dinner," the boy said. "I did not want it. It's a meat-pie and a bun. I don't care for meat-pies and--come, Norah, eat it!" Norah's blue eyes filled with tears. She was so hungry, but she knew her father might be hungry too. She glanced at the bed, and Brian understood the glance. "Meat-pies are bad for sick folks," he said, shaking his head. "Very bad! He mustn't touch it." "I'll keep the bun then, and p'raps that may tempt him with a drop of the wine you brought yesterday. But, Brian, he is very ill!" "Well, eat your pie, and then we'll talk," the boy said. "Not loud, or he may wake." "I have something to tell you. There's a young gentleman who plays the violoncello grandly! He comes to the Octagon, you know, and I believe it was that very gentleman you saw at Mr. Herschel's yesterday. I'm going to hunt him up; and I'll bring him here, and he is certain to be good to you." "I don't want to beg! Oh, Brian, I do not like to beg, and be spurned like Mr. Herschel spurned me yesterday!" "He was in a hurry--he did not mean anything unkind. But I have got to sing a solo at a rehearsal, and I must be gone. Cheer up, Norah! What's all this rubbish?" "It's the theatre dresses. Mrs. Betts, the keeper of the wardrobe, gave me the job. She will pay me, you know." Brian nodded, and then left the room. His quaint little figure, in knee-breeches and swallow-tail short coat, with a wide crimped frill falling over the collar and the wrist-bands, would excite a smile now if seen in the streets of Bath. Heavy leather shoes, tied with wide black ribbon, and dull yellow stockings, which met the legs of the breeches, and were fastened with buckles, completed his attire. But the fine open face, with its winning smile, and white forehead shaded by clustering curls, could not be disguised. Brian had a charm about him few people could resist. He lived with his aunts, who were fashionable mantua-makers and milliners in John Street, and their rooms were frequented by many of the _elite_, who came to them to consult about the fashion and the mode, although the Miss Hoblyns' fame was not, in 1779, what it became when the Duchess of York consulted them as to her "top-gear" a few years later.