The dilapidated house in Blind Peter looked still more dreary and dilapidated in the daylight, or in such light as was called daylight by the denizens of that wretched alley. By this light, too, Jim Lomax looked none the better, with hungry pinched features, bloodshot eyes, and two burning crimson spots on his hollow cheeks. He was asleep when Jabez entered. The girl was still seated by his side, never looking up, or taking her large dark eyes from his face—never stirring, except to rearrange the poor bundle of rags which served as a pillow for the man's weary head, or to pour out his medicine, or moisten his hot forehead with wet linen. The old woman sat by the great gaunt fireplace, where she had lighted a few sticks, and made the best fire she could, by the doctor's orders; for the place was damp and draughty, even in this warm June weather. She was rocking herself to and fro on a low three-legged stool, and muttering some disconnected jargon.
When Jabez had spoken a few words to the sick man, and made his offer of assistance, he did not leave the place, but stood on the hearth, looking with a thoughtful face at the old woman.
She was not quite right in her mind, according to general opinion in Blind Peter; and if a Commission of Lunacy had been called upon to give a return of her state of intellect on that day, I think that return would have agreed with the opinion openly expressed in a friendly manner by her neighbours.
She kept muttering to herself, "And so, my deary, this is the other one. The water couldn't have been deep enough. But it's not my fault, Lucy dear, for I saw it safely put away."
"What did you see so safely put away?" asked Jabez, in so low a voice as to be heard neither by the sick man nor the girl.
"Wouldn't you like to know, deary?" mumbled the old hag, looking up at him with a malicious grin. "Don't you very much want to know, my dear? But you never will; or if you ever do, you must be a rich man first; for it's part of the secret, and the secret's gold—as long as it is kept, my dear, and it's been kept a many years, and kept faithful."
"Does he know it?" Jabez asked, pointing to the sick man.
"No, my dear; he'd want to tell it. I mean to sell it some day, for it's worth a mint of money! A mint of money! He doesn't know it—nor she—not that it matters to her; but it does matter to him."
"Then you had best let him know before three days are over or he'll never know it!" said the schoolmaster.
"Why not, deary?"
"Never you mind! I want to speak to you; and I don't want
