Mary did not mean to be mercenary, and had good feeling in the main; but she was going to be married as soon as her young man could save up money enough to buy furniture, and so every sixpence she could earn became a precious acquisition. The nurse arrived about four o’clock, and Miss Mordaunt, who had been sitting with her door ajar all the afternoon, examined her anxiously as she went past. She had a firm face, but a bright and sympathetic expression; and there was something in her upright carriage that inspired confidence irresistibly. Miss Mordaunt shut the door when the other had passed, and sank into a chair, letting her nerveless hands drop to her side. “Thank Heaven!” she murmured, “at least he will have every chance.” The next few days were days of indescribable misery and suspense to the anxious watcher in No. 56. Colonel Dacre lay between life and death, and the doctor came out of the sick-room always with a terribly grave face. But for a little compromise she had made with Mary, Miss Mordaunt would have fallen ill herself with worry. The nurse had four hours’ rest during the day, and directly she was safely shut into her room, the girl ran down to fetch Miss Mordaunt, and allowed her to take her place at Colonel Dacre’s bedside. It was such a comfort to be doing something. Only those who have had to stand by helpless, when those they loved were sick and suffering, will understand the poor girl’s thankfulness for Mary’s concession. The chambermaid would have got into sad disgrace if she had been found out; but she was willing to run the risk, as Miss Mordaunt’s gratitude took a substantial form, and, moreover, she was really interested in the lovers. On one of these occasions Miss Mordaunt had a serious fright. She had scarcely settled herself in the sick-room, and was just measuring out the medicine that Mary had been charged to give the sick man at this time, when she heard Doctor May’s step and voice on the landing below. He was evidently talking to Monsieur Bause, and must have forgotten something, as he had paid his usual midday visit before the nurse had gone to lie down. The color mounted in a flood to the girl’s delicate face, and her heart beat like a sledge-hammer against her side. A discovery of this sort would necessitate all kinds of painful explanations and humiliating confessions, and she did not know how far Doctor May was to be trusted. But while she stood hesitating, panting, confused, Mary suddenly appeared on the scene, whisked the glass out of her hand, pushed her toward the closet, and, closing the door upon her, locked it softly. There was not even room to stand upright, but Miss Mordaunt was too thankful for her deliverance to take heed of such a trifle. She crouched down in the easiest position she could find, and listened with all her ears. “Where is nurse?” inquired Doctor May, as he entered.