They talked till Lotty exhausted herself again, then Ida was allowed
to re-enter the room. Mrs. Ledward kept coming and going till her
own bed-time, giving what help and comfort she could in her hard,
half-indifferent way. Another night passed, and in the morning Lotty
seemed a little better. Her throat was not so painful, but she
breathed with difficulty, and had a cough. Ida sat holding her
mother's hand. It was a sunny morning, and the bells of neighbouring
churches began to ring out clearly on the frosty air.

"Ida," said the sick woman, raising herself suddenly, "get me some
note-paper and an envelope out of the box; and go and borrow pen and
ink, there's a good child."

The materials were procured, and, with a great effort, Lotty managed
to arrange herself so as to be able to write. She covered four pages
with a sad scrawl, closed the envelope, and was about to direct it,
but paused.

"The bells have stopped," she said, listening. "It's half-past
eleven. Put on your things, Ida."

The child obeyed, wondering.

"Give me my purse out of the drawer. See, there's a shilling. Now,
say this after me: Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, Number--, St. John Street
Road."

Ida repeated the address.

"Now, listen, Ida. You put this letter in your pocket; you go down