"What more about him?" he asked.

"He is engaged to be married when he can afford it," said Milly,
"and is studying, I think, to qualify himself to earn a living. I
have seen, a long time, that he has studied hard and denied himself
much.--How very dark it is!"

"It's turned colder, too," said the old man, rubbing his hands.
"There's a chill and dismal feeling in the room. Where's my son
William? William, my boy, turn the lamp, and rouse the fire!"

Milly's voice resumed, like quiet music very softly played:

"He muttered in his broken sleep yesterday afternoon, after talking
to me" (this was to herself) "about some one dead, and some great
wrong done that could never be forgotten; but whether to him or to
another person, I don't know. Not BY him, I am sure."

"And, in short, Mrs. William, you see--which she wouldn't say
herself, Mr. Redlaw, if she was to stop here till the new year
after this next one--" said Mr. William, coming up to him to speak
in his ear, "has done him worlds of good! Bless you, worlds of
good! All at home just the same as ever--my father made as snug
and comfortable--not a crumb of litter to be found in the house, if
you were to offer fifty pound ready money for it--Mrs. William
apparently never out of the way--yet Mrs. William backwards and
forwards, backwards and forwards, up and down, up and down, a
mother to him!"

The room turned darker and colder, and the gloom and shadow