"I will take care of her," Brian Bellis said. "See! she is almost stupefied with her grief--she will scarce heed your departure!" "I cannot leave her--poor little girl! She has no one in the world but me!" Griselda said, in a tone of deep emotion. While they were thus speaking, the stairs creaked under the weight of Mrs. Betts, who, with one of the actors from the theatre, came to inquire for Lamartine. Mrs. Betts was a coarse, loud-voiced woman, but her nature was kind, and she pitied the child who had done so much for her father with all her heart. She was a woman of decision too, and, with one glance at the bed, she lifted the almost unconscious Norah in her arms, and turning to the pale, haggard man, who had been acting in Lamartine's place, she said: "You bide here while I take the child to my lodgings. And we must give notice of the death, and club to get him decently buried. Mr. Palmer will give a guinea, and we'll all follow in the same line. Harrison, do you hear?" "Yes--yes," the man said hurriedly; "but don't leave me long alone here. I--I don't care to have the company of a dead man for long." "You are an arrant coward, then, for your pains! There, go into the inner chamber, and I'll be back in half an hour. Turn the key in the lock," Mrs. Betts said, as she began to trudge down the dark stairs with Norah in her arms--"turn the key." But the man sprang to the door: "Don't--don't lock me in! I'll stay; but don't lock the door!" A scornful laugh from Mrs. Betts was the answer, and Graves coolly turned the key as she was told. Brian Bellis had gone down to look for Zach and the torch, but no Zach was to be found. He had made off to earn another gold-piece, and had performed his errand well, as the event proved. Poor Griselda had need of the support of Graves's strong arm as she hurried her along to the North Parade. What if Lady Betty were before her! What if it should come to her being really refused admittance to the house! Graves trembled to think of it, and of what she would personally be made to suffer if she were not at her post in her mistress's bedroom at the appointed hour. Griselda had really no thought about this. Her one longing was to get back--back to her room, where she could pour forth her trouble, and consider how she should tell him who had loved her so well, that she was the daughter of the man by whose bedside they had stood together, all unconscious that they were doing anything more than responding to the entreaty of a child who was almost starving, and who was the only friend the wretched man seemed to possess. To Graves's intense relief, Mrs. Abbott opened the door, and, in reply to the anxious question, said: "No, her ladyship is not come home. Nobody has been here since Zach returned to say you did not want him any more."