Mrs. Yorke was just the woman who, while rendering miser-
able the drudging life of a simple maid-servant, would nurse
like a heroine a hospital full of plague patients. She almost
loved Moore: her tough heart almost yearned towards him,
when she found him committed to her charge, -- left in her arms,
as dependent on her as her youngest-born in the cradle. Had
she seen a domestic, or one of her daughters, give him a draught
of water, or smooth his pillow, she would have boxed the in-
truder's cars. She chased Jessie and Rose from the upper realm
of the house: she forbade the housemaids to set their foot in it.

Now, if the accident had happened at the Rectory gates, and old
Helstone had taken in the martyr, neither Yorke nor his wife
would have pitied him: they would have adjudged him right
served for his tyranny and meddling: as it was, he became, for
the present, the apple of their eye.

Strange! Louis Moore was permitted to come, -- to sit down
on the edge of the bed, and lean over the pillow, -- to hold his
brother's hand, and press his pale forehead with his fraternal
lips: and Mrs. Yorke bore it well. She suffered him to stay half
the day there; she once suffered him to sit up all night in the
chamber; she rose herself at five o'clock of a wet November
morning, and with her own hands lit the kitchen fire, and made
the brothers a breakfast, and served it to them herself. Majesti-
cally arrayed in a boundless flannel wrapper, a shawl, and her
nightcap, she sat and watched them eat, as complacently as a
hen beholds her chickens feed. Yet she gave the cook warning
that day for venturing to make and carry up to Mr. Moore a
bason of sago-gruel; and the housemaid lost her favour because,
when Mr. Louis was departing, she brought him his surtout
aired from the kitchen, and, like a "forward piece," as she was,
helped him on with it, and accepted, in return, a smile, a "thank
you, my girl," and a shilling. Two ladies called one day, pale and
anxious, and begged earnestly, humbly, to be allowed to see
Mr. Moore one instant: Mrs. Yorke hardened her heart, and
sent them packing, -- not without opprobrium.

But how was it when Hortense Moore came? -- not so bad as

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