But the night had come on, and every moment of delay doubtless
increased the anxiety she was causing. Ida went up to the door,
stood on tiptoe to reach the knocker, and gave her usual two
distinct raps. Mrs. Ledward opened the door to her in person; a
large woman, with pressed lips and eyes that squinted very badly;
attired, however, neatly, and looking as good-natured as a woman who
was at once landlady and dressmaker could be expected to look.

"How 's 't you're so late?" she asked, without looking at the child;
her eyes, as far as one could guess, fixed upon the houses opposite,
her hands in the little pocket on each side of her apron. "Your
mother's poorly."

"Oh, then I shall sleep with her to-night?" exclaimed Ida,
forgetting her trouble for the moment in this happy foresight

"Dessay," returned Mrs. Ledward laconically.

Ida left her still standing in the doorway, and ran stairs. The
chamber she went into--after knocking and receiving permission to
enter, according to the rule which had been impressed upon her--
was a tolerably-furnished bedroom, which, with its bright fire,
tasteful little lamp, white coverlets and general air of fresh
orderliness, made a comfortable appearance. The air was scented,
too, with some pleasant odour of a not too pungent kind. But the
table lacked one customary feature; no tea was laid as it was wont
to be at this hour. The child gazed round in surprise. Her mother
was in bed, lying back on raised pillows, and with a restless,
half-pettish look on her face.