“She has friends, sir, of a sort, but she seems to have run away from them, though I think that I have the address of her aunt. She’s got money too, I believe; and there’s some one who gives her an allowance.” “Very likely, poor girl,” answered the doctor drily. “Well, I think that under the circumstances you had better examine her purse and see what she has to go on with, and then you must write to this aunt and let her know how things are. I dare say that you will not get any answer, but it’s worth a penny stamp on the chance. And now I’ll be witness while you count the money.” Joan’s purse was easily found; indeed, it lay upon the table before them, for, notwithstanding Mr. Levinger’s admonitions, she was careless, like most of her sex, as to where she put her cash. On examination it was found to contain over fifteen pounds. “Well, there’ plenty to go on with,” said the doctor; “and when that’s gone, if the relations won’t do anything I must get a sister to come in and nurse her. But I shouldn’t feel justified in recommending her case to them while she has so much money in her possession.” Within three hours the nurse arrived—a capable and kindly woman of middle age who thoroughly understood her business. As may be imagined, Mrs. Bird was glad enough to see her; indeed, between the nursing of Joan, who by now was in a high fever and delirious, upstairs, and attending to her paralytic husband below, her strength was well-nigh spent, nor could she do a stitch of the work upon which her family depended for their livelihood. That afternoon she composed a letter to Mrs. Gillingwater. It ran as follows:— “MADAM,—