Mr. Bowen was sitting back, as if afraid of absorbing too much of the
heat, rocking the cradle and singing in a rich, low voice one of the most
beautiful hymns I ever heard, the look of peace that came from some
unseen source still lighting his face. With Mrs. Blake's assistance, and
with occasional exclamations of delight, on her part I unpacked the
hamper and then I took a little wine and a bunch of grapes in to Mrs.
Larkum. I was shocked at the change a few weeks had made in her
appearance. She saw the pained look in my face and her own countenance
fell.
"Mrs. Blake told me you seemed sure I would get better. Do you think now
there is no hope?" she asked pitifully.
"I shall not give you up until we try the effect of these," I said
cheerfully, putting the cup that contained the wine to her lips and
laying the grapes in her hand. She took a sip or two and then put
the cup aside. "I have eaten so little for several days you would soon
make me intoxicated with that rich wine. I never tasted any like it," she
said, with a pitiful attempt at a smile. I got out a slice of cook's
home-made bread, and toasting it before the fire, with Mrs. Blake's help,
we soon had a dainty lunch prepared for her with jelly, and a cup of tea
with real cream, an unknown delicacy in her cottage, floating on the top.
I carried it and watched while she ate it all. "Perhaps it may kill me,"
she said, plaintively, "but I believe I am more hungry than sick. This
cold cut me right down, and I had nothing to tempt my appetite.
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