Morgan was waiting near the door when Henry went out. “I take shame, Mr. Henry, my dear,” said she, “that I did not half believe you in what you said, the morning you went away, about coming again, and going to be happy.” “Well, Morgan, you believe me now?” “Yes, my dear, I do; and I feel, by your looks, that there is some great reason behind. Do you know, I should say, if it was not a strange thing to say, Mr. Henry,—I should say you were married.” “That is a strange guess, Morgan. Suppose you come, some day, and see; and, if you bring Jane with you, so much the better.” “Ah! my dear, it would be a wholesome change for her, so much as she goes through with my master. You may believe me I hear her half the night, stealing about to watch his sleep, when by chance he gets any quiet sleep; and at other times comforting him.” “Do you mean that he suffers much?” “In mind, Mr. Henry. What can they expect whom God permits to be deluded about what they should seek? Be sure you take care, Sir, to provide for your own household; but I hope never to hear you tossing in your bed because of the doubt whether you will have three times or only twice as much gold as you can use.” “Treat him tenderly, Morgan; and send for me whenever you think I can be of any use.” “My dear, there is not a sick child crying for its broken toy that I would treat so tenderly as your father,—even if I had not Miss Jane before me for a pattern. I will send for you, I promise you; but it is little that any of us can do when it comes to be a matter of serious illness. We brought neither gold nor friends into this world, and ’tis certain we cannot carry them out; but what you can do for your father, you shall be called to do, Sir. However, as Michael says, if there comes a flow of custom to make his mind easy, he may be as well as ever.”