‘I have seen women enough in my time to know a good one when I meet one; and that this woman is good and true I will stake my life, my hope of winning her even, which is dearer to me than life.’ ‘And if you found her less than you believe her, you would do what you said three months ago—pluck her out of your heart?’ ‘Yes, though her jesses were my heartstrings.’ ‘Good; that’s all I want to know. I tell you frankly, Geoff, I don’t like this wandering apprenticeship to your new divinity. I don’t like the idea of a life-passion picked up by the roadside—of all your hopes of future happiness being grounded upon a woman of whom you know absolutely nothing.’ ‘Only that she is the noblest woman I ever met,’ said Geoffrey doggedly. ‘Which means that she has a handsome face,’ said the other. CHAPTER IX. SOMETHING TOO MUCH FOR GRATITUDE. By this time Mr. Hossack and his friend had come from the pleasant country road into the shabbiest outskirt of Stillmington, that outskirt which contained Marlow-street. Strange that even in so select a town as Stillmington, Poverty will set up its tents. The shop had been shut some time, but the door stood ajar, and a light burnt dimly within. Geoffrey and his companion were expected. Miss Grabbit was yawning over a tattered novel in her accustomed place behind the counter. ‘O, is it the doctor, sir?’ she exclaimed, brightening. ‘Will you walk up-stairs, please? Mother’s with the little girl, and she’s been sleeping beautiful. I feel sure she’s took a turn.’ ‘Is Mrs. Bertram up-stairs?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘No, she’s lying down a bit on our sofa in there,’ pointing to the closed door of communication between the shop and parlour. ‘She was right down worn out, and mother persuaded her to try and get a little rest. Mother will take all your directions, sir,’ she added to Lucius. That gentleman bowed, but said nothing. A curious mother this! The mothers he knew were wont to hang upon his words as on the sacred sentences of an oracle. He followed Geoffrey up the narrow stairs to the little bedroom where the child lay asleep. The pure spotless look of the small chamber struck him, and the beauty of the child’s face was no common beauty. There was something in it which impressed him curiously—something that seemed familiar—familiar as a half-remembered dream. Good Heaven, was it not his dead sister’s face that this one recalled to him—the face of the little sister who died years ago? The fancy moved him deeply; and his hand trembled a little as he lightly raised the bedclothes from the child’s throat and chest, with that gentle touch of the doctor’s skilful hand, and bent down to listen to the breathing. All was satisfactory. He went through his examination calmly enough, that transient emotion once conquered; felt the slender wrist, performed that unpleasant operation with a silver spoon to which we have all submitted our unwilling throats at divers periods, and then pronounced that all was going on well.