Before the servant had time to reply, a white-haired, ruddy-faced gentleman came out of a side-room. "Come inside, come inside," he said, as he peered at Maria through his spectacles. "Yes, Mr. Cleeve is under this roof. He is my guest, you know; and you, I presume, are some relation of his?" he added, as he led the way into the parlour. "Perhaps his sister?" "No, not his sister," faltered Maria, the difficulties of her position suddenly presenting themselves to her. "I am not related to him." "Not related to him!" repeated the old gentleman, gazing at her. But, there was something so benevolent in the ruddy face, so kindly in the honest eyes, that Maria took heart and courage. "I am his promised wife, sir," she said simply. "There was nobody but me to come." "His promised wife, now! Bless my heart, but that's very nice, do you know! I never had a promised wife; I often wish that I had. My name's Marjoram, my dear--Josiah Marjoram, late of Bucklersbury, City; now retired, with nothing to do--nothing to do. It's hard work, though, sometimes." "But about Philip--about Mr. Cleeve, sir?" said Maria, earnestly. "Is he very ill? I was to send a telegram to his mother if I got here in time. How was he hurt?" "Sit down, my dear, and I will tell you all about it. It was as gallant a thing as ever I saw. I was standing at my drawing-room window one afternoon, whistling to myself, and thinking about nothing in particular, when all at once a hansom cab came dashing round the corner at a most furious rate. A little child was running across the road: it stumbled and fell: upon which a young man, who happened to be passing, and whom I had not noticed before, dashed into the road and seized the child in his arms. But he was too late; the cab was over him. The child escaped with a few bruises, but the young man was--well, let us put it, rather badly hurt. 'Take him to the hospital,' called out the people, running up. 'The only hospital he shall go to is my house,' I said to them: and into it he was carried. We found a name on some cards in his pocket-book, 'Mr. Cleeve,' but no address, so that I was unable to communicate with his friends." "And he was too much injured to give you the address!" exclaimed Maria. "Just so; he was not sufficiently sensible. But he is getting better now; oh, very much better," added the old gentleman, briskly. "As a proof of it, it was he who dictated the telegram to Lady Cleeve this morning. My doctor and the one from London both say that with care we shall soon have him on his legs again now." "I should like to see him, sir, if you please," said Maria, faintly. "So you shall, my dear: so you shall, when I have spoken to the nurse. Meanwhile, my housekeeper, Mrs. Wale, a good, motherly old soul, shall show you to your room, to take your bonnet off. We prepared it for his mother, thinking she might come."