"You have been candid with me, at last, at
any-rate; and, in recognition of that candor, I say 'Good-night, Mr.
Grice,' as a friend of yours still."
When Mat returned to Kirk Street, the landlady came out of her little
parlor to tell him of a visitor who had been to the lodgings in his
absence. An elderly lady, looking very pale and ill, had asked to see
young Mr. Thorpe, and had prefaced the request by saying that she was
his mother. Zack was then asleep, but the lady had been taken up stairs
to see him in bed--had stooped over him, and kissed him--and had then
gone away again, hastily, and in tears. Matthew's face grew grave as he
listened, but he said nothing when the landlady had done, except a word
or two charging her not to mention to Zack what had happened when he
woke. It was plain that Mrs. Thorpe had been told her husband's secret,
and that she had lovingly devoted herself to him, as comforter and
companion to the last.
When the doctor paid his regular visit to the invalid, the next
morning, he was called on immediately for an answer to the important
question of when Zack would be fit to travel. After due consideration
and careful inspection of the injured side of the patient's head, he
replied that in a month's time the lad might safely go on board ship;
and that the sea-voyage proposed would do more towards restoring him to
perfect health and strength, than all the tonic medicines that all the
doctors in England could prescribe.
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