“O! yes, Doctor, please!” replied the girl, weakly sobbing, “’cos she was very good to me, afore I took up with devils and things. She couldn’t abide woices nor shadders, couldn’t mother, and I was a bad gal, I feels it now, to go agen ’er! It cut me to the ’eart, when we parted so cruel, and if the Professor ’adn’t stood my friend, I dunno what I _should_ ’ave done! And Joe too--my young man as was--he turned me off along of the same thing, and I dessay ’e was right, but I loved ’im true, Doctor--I told the Sig-nor so--and I should like to say good-bye to ’im also since I’m a’going!” “But, Hannah, you must not talk like that! You’re in great pain, I know, but we will pull you through yet--see if we don’t!” “No! you won’t,” replied the girl, shaking her head; “there’s a summat in my stummick, as tells me I shan’t never walk out of this ’ere bed. And so, if I could see my pore mother once more, Doctor, and--and--my young man, if so be ’e ain’t married another yet--it would make me easier than anythink else!” “Then you shall see them, if it is in my power,” said Von Steinberg, as he rose to leave her. “And the Professor, too, Doctor--my pore old ’usband,” added Hannah. “’E’ll miss me a bit, won’t ’e, cos we was always sich good friends--’e and I,--always sich good friends!” murmured the dying girl, in a faint voice. Commending her to the care of the nurse, the Baron did what he considered was the last and kindest duty he could perform towards her, and that was to go down with all haste to Settlefield, and if possible bring her people up to London to see her once more. He used the utmost expedition in accomplishing his errand, but it was some hours before he reached the village, and then it was to find the little cottage in darkness and mourning--Mrs. Stubbs having died the day before. When the widower heard the errand on which Von Steinberg had come, he expressed a sort of rough regret at his daughter’s hopeless condition, but he did not volunteer to accompany him back to Town. “You see, Sir, it’s loike this,” he argued, “the missus she would ’ave been very glad to see our Hannah afore she died, but it was not to be, and she lays dead in that theer room, and ’ave lef’ me with hall these childer on my ’ands, which I can’t leave ’em, not for Hannah, nor no one. You must please to tell ’er with my dooty as it is so, and p’r’aps when she’s strong and ’earty agen, she’ll remember her pore father and ’ow ’e ’as to work to maintain ’er brothers and sisters, and she rolling in riches, as you may say.” “But she will _never_ be strong and hearty again,” exclaimed Von Steinberg, impatiently. “I tell you that my poor wife is dying. She cannot last more than four-and-twenty hours!” “Well! I couldn’t go so soon, if I wanted ever so,” replied the man. “Theer’s my lawful wife a’laying dead in that theer room, and I wouldn’t leave the ’ouse whilst she’s in it, not for a ’undred darters, be they whom they may!”