L. T. Meade

“ By this time the starved, wretched-looking woman had been divested of a thin wrap, and the baby, with a blanket thrown over it, was lying in the nurse's arms. Sister Mercy was bending over the woman, now and then wetting her blue lips with drops of brandy.
“Eh,” said the doctor coming in, “what have we here? Waifs and strays in your own parlour, Sister Mercy?”
“Is this woman alive?” asked Sister Patience.
The doctor dropped on one knee and placed his finger on the woman's thin and dirty wrist.
“I can feel no pulse,” he said, “I doubt if the poor creature is alive. ”

“ She walked quickly, her shawl wrapped tightly round her baby. He was a bonnie boy, and faced the bitter winds and the piercing cold of the early morning with his big blue eyes wide open, and contented smiles on his parted lips.
The sun was up and the day had warmed a little by the time Pamela had reached the lodging-house where her husband had spent the night. A stream of sleepy, unwashed-looking men were going out as she approached the door-step. She stood back a little to see them pass. David Apjohn was not among them. When all the men had gone by, Pamela went up and pulled the door-bell. ”

“ It was nearly midnight, and Sister Patience tripped softly down-stairs to lock the narrow hall-door.
“There's another case just being brought up the garden, Sister,” said Jim, the hall porter.
Sister Patience knit her brows anxiously.
“We have no more room, Jim,” she answered, in her kind confidential tone, “every bed is occupied; that poor little boy with the broken ankle was the very last we had a corner for. Dear, dear, what a pity! They must try and take that poor creature on to the London Hospital, and it's a good step from here, a long, weary step. Dear, dear, what a pity!” ”

“ In sunshine even the house looked brown and dilapidated, but now in the wintry thaw and watery moonlight, all its ugliness was intensified, and people felt inclined to hurry by it, and to wonder what business it had amongst its modern and more cheerful neighbours. ”

“ The hall-door was wide open by this time, and the wind which was rising higher each minute caught little drifts of half-melted snow, and whirled it in through the porch to the warmly clad feet of little Sister Mercy. Two policemen had come up with a shutter, on which a thin figure lay very still.
“We found her lying by the lamp-post,” said one of the men; “there's a young 'un in her arms; she's most froze, poor soul, and the babe don't seem to breathe.”
“Oh, dear, dear,” said Sister Patience, “what a pity the house is full! ”

“ A faint slow pulse was stirring it. “I never saw death counterfeited so well before,” said Dr. Erskine. “Sister Mercy, you have saved this poor creature's life. Poor miserable object, I wonder if it is a blessing to her?”
“How can you say such words, Dr. Erskine? And she the mother of a dear little baby.”
“Ah, well, well, she is alive, and we must do what we can to bring her to consciousness. Will some one fetch me hot water? Ah, thank you, Sister Patience, this warm flannel is just what I require.”
There was very little sleep for the good Sisters of the hospital that night. ”

“ When Sister Patience saw the letter which the hospital nurse left behind her, she could not help giving vent to an expression of annoyance.
It is always the same,” she said to Sister Mercy; “one can never expect gratitude or constancy from any of these poor people. I did hope for better things from Pamela, but even Pamela has left us with scarcely a word, to go back to that wretched good-for-nothing husband of hers.” ”

“ I for one cannot blame her.”
“Do you ever blame any one, Mercy?”
“Perhaps I do, now and then,” replied dear little Sister Mercy, “but at least I am sure that person will never be Pamela.”
A few days afterwards Sister Patience came eagerly into the parlour where Sister Mercy was resting.
“Do you know,” she said in an excited voice, “that I am certain that thin, gaunt-looking man who is sweeping the crossing, just there opposite the public-house, is Pamela's husband.” ”

“ Something occurs which makes the dormant soul grow. From the moment that happens the man who has hitherto cursed his life, and spoken of chance being all against him, faces the world. He looks at it with his awakened eyes, and sees that it is full of Light, not Darkness, of Opportunities, not Stumbling-blocks. ”

“ But as Fortune slowly turns her wheel, it sometimes happens that a little thing, an unexpected ray of sunshine, an unlooked for kindness, or the pathos of a great devotion, puts sudden life and courage into the heart which never before had a chance. ”

“ You come after a man who lodges in a house like this, and you the mother of that bonnie little chap, and a likely fresh young thing yourself! There, my dear, it ain't too late yet. You take a hint from one wot knows—them low-down sort of fellers ain't worth a nice decent young woman sacrificing herself to them. You go back to the people who are taking such good care of you. You go back, it ain't too late, for no man that ever slept inside these walls is fit to be mate to a nice young body like yourself.”
“But that's not the question,” said Pamela. ”

“ When mother's buried there won't be a soul on earth to care whether I'm dead or alive. I wish I was dead; I'm no good to nobody. Id be best out of the way.'
“He said these kind of things many times, and all the while I kept trying to answer him, but the words seemed to stick in my throat.
“Suddenly we heard a window open, and William's voice called to us to come in to supper. After supper David rose to go out again, but William said, 'Sit down Dave. I've a word I want to say.' Then William turned to me, 'Well, Pamela,' he said, 'you know what I said to you last night. ”

“ By-and-by the new patient was well enough to sit up and walk about. In the course of a fortnight she had quite recovered. She was now a plump-looking, strong young woman, tall, well-made, upright, capable of any amount of physical exertion. Sister Mercy and Sister Patience looked at her wistfully many times. She was clearly in no sense an invalid, and could no longer remain in the hospital in that capacity. The baby had also perfectly recovered.
One evening the sisters called her into their little sitting-room.
“Shut the door, Pamela,” they said; “we want to ask you some questions. ”

“ There must always in this world be a vast number of human beings who have an insufficiency of these essentials, and to them the icy cold of this thaw meant a great deal more than cold feet; in almost every instance it meant illness, in most cases great suffering, in extreme cases, death. ”

“ After another little pause, William began to speak. 'Look here, David,' he said, 'mother will be buried to-morrow, and there'll have to be a change here. Pamela won't have me, and from what I can see she's willing enough to have you. You take her, David, and go. Go away up to London the pair of you, and try your luck. I'll give you fifty pounds; it's a good bit of money—you can't say as it ain't. You take Pamela, David, and the bit of money, and I'll keep the farm. The farm ain't big enough for two, and I'm the elder, and I ought to have it. ”

“ The persons who would act so, however, would be strangers, for those who knew the present history of this unpretentious old-fashioned dwelling would assure the bystander that no house, far or near, was more popular, that the brown house was the blessing of its little neighbourhood, and that outward appearances were not always to be relied upon. ”

“ When I came to it was morning, and David was gone. I have never seen him since.
“The blow on my head made me very weak and bad for a good while. I couldn't hold the needle from giddiness, and I had to wean baby. At last there came a day when the landlady said I mustn't stay any longer. It was an awful bitter, cold day, and I begged and prayed of her, for the love of Heaven, to let the baby and me sleep in one of the attics for the night, but she said she couldn't. She didn't speak unreasonable, or anyway angry. ”

“ It belonged to two brothers, William and David Apjohn. There was an old mother, too, who was bedridden. The farm could scarcely support two men; it was very small, and the weather seemed always against the crops, and the head landlord was a hard man, and would make no improvements. One day I got a message to go to the farm. It was from the old lady, Mrs. Apjohn; she asked me if I'd live there and help to keep the place straight.
“Mother was willing enough I should go. She said, 'Maybe you'll marry William Apjohn, Pamela, and he's a likely man.' I went there the next week. ”

“ It was with a violent effort that she could keep back the exclamation which struggled to burst from her lips.
“I want to see one of the Sisters,” said the man.
Pamela paused before she spoke—her lips were dry; she found great difficulty in uttering a sound.
“The Sisters are busy,” she said then, in a husky voice, “and—” her tones grew more husky, “the house is full.”
“Oh, ay,” said the man, “I might ha' known that without your telling me. There's no room anywhere for good-for-noughts. ”

“ That God meant good for him when He put him into the world; that there is no such thing really as Bad Luck, but that there is a very big and beautiful thing called Hope; with this he can climb the hill and reach the top. ”

“ There's sure to be lots of casuals wantin' shelter to-night. It's a woman and a baby this time, Sister Patience; maybe she's took too much. She looks like it. Shall I tell the perleece to take her on to the London, Sister? ”

“ She said she was very sorry for me, I but she must make an example of them as couldn't pay their rent. Where would she be herself if she didn't, she said. Oh, it was quite just what she said, and I hadn't a word in me to answer her. I wrapped the warmest shawl I possessed round baby, and went out. ”