the woman see to her duty?"

"She has done her duty, father. You set still, and you shall have the
tea presently."

The man glared at his daughter with his bloodshot eyes. She had been
up all night, and her hair was tossed, and her eyes smarted; but beside
him she looked so fresh, so upright, so brave and strong, that he
himself in some undefinable way felt the contrast, and shrank from
her. He turned his uneasy gaze towards the bed; he would vent his spite
on that weak wife of his--Martha should know what it was to keep a man
with a splitting headache waiting for his tea. He made an effort to
rise, and to approach the bed, but Bet forestalled him.

"Set you there, or you'll drink no tea in this house," she said; and
then, taking a shawl, she threw it over an old clothes-screen, and
placed it between Granger and his dead wife.

The kettle boiled at last, the tea was made strong ang good, and Bet
took a cup to her father. He drained it off at one long draught, and
held out his shaking hand to have the cup refilled. Bet supplied him
with a second draught, then she placed her hand with the air of a
professional nurse on his wrist.

"You're better now, father."

"That I am, gel, and thank you. You're by no means a bad sort, Bet--
worth twenty of her, I can tell you."

"Leave her out of the question, if you please, father, or you'll get