"If yo'll gi' me th' letter, I'll tak' it an' thank yo'," said Joan. "If she could help me to work or th' loike, I should be glad enow."
Anice's mother's mother had always been her safest resource in the past, and yet, curiously enough, she had not thought of turning toward her in this case until Joan's words had suggested such a course.
Joan took the letter and put it in the bosom of her dress.
"Theer's no more danger fur him?" she said. "Thwaite towd me he wur better."
She spoke questioningly, and Anice answered her—
"Yes, he is out of danger. Joan, what am I to say to him?"
"To say to him!"
She started slightly, but ended with a strained quietness of manner.
"Theer's nowt to say," she added, rising, and preparing to go.
Anice rose also. She held out both her hands, and Joan took them.
"I will go down-stairs with you," said Anice; and they went out together.
When they reached the front door, they kissed each other, and Anice stood in the lighted hall and watched the girl's departure.
"Good-bye!" she said; "and God bless you!"
Early in the morning, Derrick called his friend to his bedside.
"I have had a bad night," he said to him.
"Yes," Grace answered. "It is easy enough to see that."
