There was a short pause. "I saw you 'ide your 'at," said Anne Evans. "Not 'ide it," said Tom; "only sits on it--always sits on my 'at." Tom produced it, let it bounce up like a jack-in-a-box, and shut it down again. Miss Evans was neither amused nor surprised. "Them's hopera 'ats--first quality--they used to come in boxes on 'em, as long as from here to you, when I was at Mr. Potterton's, the hatter. Them's for gents--they air--and not for servants." "The gov'nor gives me his old uns," said Tom, producing the best fib he could find. "And them French boots," she added, meditatively. "Perquisite likewise," said Tom. Miss Anne Evans closed her eyes, and seemed disposed to take a short nap in her chair. But on a sudden she opened them to say-- "I think you're the gentleman himself." "The old gentleman?" said Tom. "No. The young un." "I'm jest what I tell you, not objectin' to the compliment all the same," said Tom. "And a ring on your finger?" "A ring on my finger--yes. I wear it two days in the week. My grand-uncle's ring, who was a gentleman, being skipper of a coal brig." "What's the lady's name?" "Can't tell, Miss Evans; dussn't." "Fuss about nothin'!" said she, and closed her eyes again, and opened them in a minute more, to add, "but I think you're him, and that's _my_ belief." "No, I ain't miss, as you'll see, by-and-by." "Tisn't nothin' to me, only people _is_ so close." The door opened, and a tall woman in black, with a black net cap on, came quietly but quickly into the room. "You're the man?" said she, with an air of authority, fixing her eyes askance on Tom. "Yes'm, please." "Well, you don't go on no account, for you'll be wanted just now." "No, ma'am." "Where's the box and bag you're in charge of?" "Out here," said Tom. "Hish, man, quiet; don't you know there's sickness? Walk easy, _can't_ you? _please_, consider." Tom followed her almost on tip-toe to the spot where the parcels lay. "Gently now; into this room, please," and she led the way into that sitting-room into which Tom Sedley had looked some little time since, from the stair-head. The beautiful young lady was gone, but Miss Sheckleton was standing at the further door of the room with her hands clasped, and her eyes raised in prayer, and her pale cheeks wet with tears. Hearing the noise, she gently closed the door, and hastily drying her eyes, whispered, "Set them down _there_," pointing to a sofa, on which Tom placed them accordingly. "Thanks--that will do. You may go." When Sedley had closed the door-- "Oh, Mrs. Graver," whispered Anne Sheckleton, clasping her wrists in her trembling fingers, "is she _very_ ill?" "Well, ma'am, she _is_ ill." "But, oh, my God, you don't think we are going to lose her?" she whispered wildly, with her imploring gaze in the nurse's eyes. "Oh, no, please God, ma'am, it will all be right. You must not fuss yourself, ma'am. You must not let her see you like this, on no account." "Shall I send for him now?"