"Good night, Mrs. Miller. I'll be here in the morning. Good night."
"Good night, sir. God bless you, sir!"
He turned around quickly. The warm tears in his dark eyes had flowed
on his face, which was pale; and his firm lip quivered.
"I hope He will, Mrs. Miller,--I hope He will. It should have been said
oftener."
He was on the outer threshold. Mrs. Flanagan had, somehow, got there
before him, with a lamp, and he followed her down through the dancing
shadows, with blurred eyes. On the lower landing he stopped to hear
the jar of some noisy wrangle, thick with oaths, from the bar-room.
He listened for a moment, and then turned to the staring stupor of Mrs.
Flanagan's rugged visage.
"Sure, they're at ut, docther, wud a wull," she said, smiling.
"Yes. Mrs. Flanagan, you'll stay up with Mrs. Miller to-night, won't
you?"
"Dade an' I wull, sur."
"That's right. Do. And make her try and sleep, for she must be tired.
Keep up a fire,--not too warm, you understand. There'll be wood and
coal coming to-morrow, and she'll pay you back.
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