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now； these weeks and months。 Between him and her baby； she has not
been able to do her old work； and by not being able to be regular； she has
lost it； even if she could have done it。 How they have lived； I hardly
know！'
'I know；' muttered Mr。 Tugby； looking at the till； and round the shop；
and at his wife； and rolling his head with immense intelligence。 'Like
Fighting Cocks！'
He was interrupted by a cry … a sound of lamentation … from the upper
story of the house。 The gentleman moved hurriedly to the door。
'My friend；' he said； looking back； 'you needn't discuss whether he
shall be removed or not。 He has spared you that trouble； I believe。'
Saying so； he ran up…stairs； followed by Mrs。 Tugby； while Mr。 Tugby
panted and grumbled after them at leisure： being rendered more than
commonly short…winded by the weight of the till； in which there had been
an inconvenient quantity of copper。 Trotty； with the child beside him；
floated up the staircase like mere air。
'Follow her！ Follow her！ Follow her！' He heard the ghostly
voices in the Bells repeat their words as he ascended。 'Learn it； from the
creature dearest to your heart！'
It was over。 It was over。 And this was she； her father's pride and joy！
This haggard； wretched woman； weeping by the bed； if it deserved that
name； and pressing to her breast； and hanging down her head upon； an
infant。 Who can tell how spare； how sickly； and how poor an infant！
Who can tell how dear！
'Thank God！' cried Trotty； holding up his folded hands。 'O； God be
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thanked！ She loves her child！'
The gentleman； not otherwise hard…hearted or indifferent to such
scenes； than that he saw them every day； and knew that they were figures
of no moment in the Filer sums … mere scratches in the working of these
calculations … laid his hand upon the heart that beat no more； and listened
for the breath； and said； 'His pain is over。 It's better as it is！' Mrs。
Tugby tried to comfort her with kindness。 Mr。 Tugby tried philosophy。
'Come； come！' he said； with his hands in his pockets； 'you mustn't give
way； you know。 That won't do。 You must fight up。 What would have
become of me if I had given way when I was porter； and we had as many
as six runaway carriage…doubles at our door in one night！ But； I fell back
upon my strength of mind； and didn't open it！'
Again Trotty heard the voices saying； 'Follow her！' He turned
towards his guide； and saw it rising from him； passing through the air。
'Follow her！' it said。 And vanished。
He hovered round her； sat down at her feet； looked up into her face for
one trace of her old self； listened for one note of her old pleasant voice。
He flitted round the child： so wan； so prematurely old； so dreadful in its
gravity； so plaintive in its feeble； mournful； miserable wail。 He almost
worshipped it。 He clung to it as her only safeguard； as the last unbroken
link that bound her to endurance。 He set his father's hope and trust on the
frail baby； watched her every look upon it as she held it in her arms； and
cried a thousand times； 'She loves it！ God be thanked； she loves it！'
He saw the woman tend her in the night； return to her when her
grudging husband was asleep； and all was still； encourage her； shed tears
with her； set nourishment before her。 He saw the day come； and the night
again； the day； the night； the time go by； the house of death relieved of
death； the room left to herself and to the child； he heard it moan and cry；
he saw it harass her； and tire her out； and when she slumbered in
exhaustion； drag her back to consciousness； and hold her with its little
hands upon the rack； but she was constant to it； gentle with it； patient with
it。 Patient！ Was its loving mother in her inmost heart and soul； and had
its Being knitted up with hers as when she carried it unborn。
All this time； she was in want： languishing away； in dire and pining
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want。 With the baby in her arms； she wandered here and there； in quest
of occupation； and with its thin face lying in her lap； and looking up in
hers； did any work for any wretched sum； a day and night of labour for as
many farthings as there were figures on the dial。 If she had quarrelled
with it； if she had neglected it； if she had looked upon it with a moment's
hate； if； in the frenzy of an instant； she had struck it！ No。 His comfort
was； She loved it always。
She told no one of her extremity； and wandered abroad in the day lest
she should be questioned by her only friend： for any help she received
from her hands； occasioned fresh disputes between the good woman and
her husband； and it was new bitterness to be the daily cause of strife and
discord； where she owed so much。
She loved it still。 She loved it more and more。 But a change fell on
the aspect of her love。 One night。
She was singing faintly to it in its sleep； and walking to and fro to hush
it； when her door was softly opened； and a man looked in。
'For the last time；' he said。
'William Fern！'
'For the last time。'
He listened like a man pursued： and spoke in whispers。
'Margaret； my race is nearly run。 I couldn't finish it； without a parting
word with you。 Without one grateful word。'
'What have you done？' she asked： regarding him with terror。
He looked at her； but gave no answer。
After a short silence； he made a gesture with his hand； as if he set her
question by； as if he brushed it aside； and said：
'It's long ago； Margaret； now： but that night is as fresh in my memory
as ever 'twas。 We little thought； then；' he added； looking round； 'that we
should ever meet like this。 Your child； Margaret？ Let me have it in my
arms。 Let me hold your child。'
He put his hat upon the floor； and took it。 And he trembled as he took
it； from head to foot。
'Is it a girl？'
'Yes。' He put his hand before its little face。