The question was simple enough, but it stirred up a host of annoying
recollections; but not wishing to make a confidant of her, I gently
replied, as I used to do in the Foundling Hospital on Sunday
morning--"My godfathers and godmothers in my baptism, ma'am."

"My dear sir, I am very ill," said she, after a pause, "will you feel my
pulse?"

I touched a wrist, and looked at a hand that was worthy of being
admired. What a pity, thought I, that she should be old, ugly, and half
crazy!

"Do you not think that this pulse of mine exhibits considerable nervous
excitement? I reckoned it this morning, it was at a hundred and twenty."

"It certainly beats quick," replied I, "but perhaps the camphor julep
may prove beneficial."

"I thank you for your advice, Mr Newland," said she, laying down a
guinea, "and if I am not better, I will call again, or send for you.
Good-night."

She walked out of the shop, leaving me in no small astonishment. What
could she mean? I was lost in reverie, when Timothy returned. The guinea
remained on the counter.

"I met her going home," said he. "Bless me--a guinea--why, Japhet!" I
recounted all that had passed. "Well, then, it has turned out well for
us instead of ill, as I expected."