“Good mornin', sir,” she said; “and good mornin', lady. I've been expectin' you, and so 'as she, poor dear. I thought one w'ile she was that hill she couldn't see you, but Lor' bless you, I've nursed 'er same as if she was my own daughter. I told you I would sir, now didn't I.” One word in this harangue caught my attention. “Ill?” I repeated. “What do you mean? Is she worse than she was yesterday?” Mrs. Briggs held up her hands. “Worse!” she cried. “Why, bless your 'art, sir, she was quite well yesterday. Quite 'erself, she was, when you come. But after you went away she seemed to go all to pieces like. W'en I went hup to 'er, to carry 'er 'er tea--She always 'as 'er tea; I've been a mother to 'er, I 'ave--she'll tell you so. W'en I went hup with the tea there she was in a faint. W'ite as if she was dead. My word, sir, I was frightened. And all night she's been tossin' about, a-cryin' out and--” “Where is she now?” put in Hephzy, sharply. “She's in 'er room ma'am. Dressed she is; she would dress, knowin' of your comin', though I told 'er she shouldn't. She's dressed, but she's lyin' down. She would 'ave tried to sit hup, but THAT I wouldn't 'ave, ma'am. 'Now, dearie,' I told 'er--” But I would not hear any more. As for Hephzy she was in the dingy front hall already. “Shall we go up?” I asked, impatiently. “Of COURSE you're to go hup. She's a-waitin' for you. But sir--sir,” she caught my sleeve; “if you think she's goin' to be ill and needin' the doctor, just pass the word to me. A doctor she shall 'ave, the best there is in London. All I ask you is to pay--” I heard no more. Hephzy was on her way up the stairs and I followed. The door of the first floor back was closed. I rapped upon it. “Come in,” said the voice I remembered, but now it sounded weaker than before. Hephzy looked at me. I nodded. “You go first,” I whispered. “You can call me when you are ready.” Hephzy opened the door and entered the room. I closed the door behind her. Silence for what seemed a long, long time. Then the door opened again and Hephzy appeared. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She put her arms about my neck. “Oh, Hosy,” she whispered, “she's real sick. And--and--Oh, Hosy, how COULD you see her and not see! She's the very image of Ardelia. The very image! Come.” I followed her into the room. It was no brighter now, in the middle of a--for London--bright forenoon, than it had been on my previous visit. Just as dingy and forbidding and forlorn as ever. But now there was no defiant figure erect to meet me. The figure was lying upon the bed, and the pale cheeks of yesterday were flushed with fever. Miss Morley had looked far from well when I first saw her; now she looked very ill indeed. She acknowledged my good-morning with a distant bow. Her illness had not quenched her spirit, that was plain. She attempted to rise, but Hephzy gently pushed her back upon the pillow.