With tactful words and many promises, Mallow managed to calm him and dispel his morbid mood. The man was not really so ill as worn with fatigue, and stupefied with terror. Rest, and a belief in his safety, were the medicines he needed, and these were now forthcoming. His narrow escape seemed to have turned his thoughts towards religion, for he requested the use of a Bible with childish eagerness. Mallow left him grappling desperately with the Psalms, striving to extract hope from the more comforting. "I am glad the poor man is better," said Olive, when she heard Mallow's report; "he seems a harmless creature." "There is good in him, but circumstances and Drabble have done their best to destroy it." "Well, let him stay here and rest, Laurence. See, I have the letter for Mr. Brock. We must call on him now. Talking about Dr. Drabble," added Olive, as they stepped out into the crisp air; "I think I ought to call and see his wife, and tell her." "Do you think that is wise?" asked Mallow, dubiously. "Of course it is wise; suspense is worse than the truth. Besides, she is without money and food. I had to send provisions to her yesterday. The sooner she understands her position, and makes the best of it, the better." "How can she make the best of it?" "I shall help her; and Lord Aldean has promised his assistance." "Good fellow; you must let me do something too." "My help is yours, Laurence," said Olive, softly. A brisk walk soon brought them to Drabble's untidy home. In a room more slatternly than ever, they found the unsuspecting widow. She was, if possible, more worn and downcast than before. "I'm sure I don't know what I should have done but for your kindness," she said to Olive. "But I expect the doctor will be back soon. It is too bad his leaving me destitute like this. The tradesmen won't send in food without money." "Dear Mrs. Drabble," said Olive, touching her arm gently, "will you take me to your room? I have something to tell you." The significance of Olive's tone was not lost upon her. "I hope--hope nothing is the matter with the doctor?" she said tremulously. "I'll tell you in your own room," insisted Olive, leading her to the door. "Excuse us, won't you, Mr. Mallow?" called back the widow; "and if the children should come in send them away. Danton is in bed with the mumps, and Margery has been converted. Please talk her back to some sense, Mr. Mallow, if you can. Dear, dear! my children are so dreadful."