The young girl was brought to the inn here by a gentleman, who has left her; she is very ill, and has no one to see after her." Miss Benson had some masculine tricks, and one was whistling a long, low whistle when surprised or displeased.

She had often found it a useful vent for feelings, and she whistled now.

Her brother would rather she had spoken.
"Have you sent for her friends ?" she asked at last.
"She has none." Another pause and another whistle, but rather softer and more wavering than the last.
"How is she ill ?" "Pretty nearly as quiet as if she were dead.

She does not speak, or move, or even sigh." "It would be better for her to die at once, I think." "Faith!" That one word put them right.

It was spoken in the tone which had authority over her; it was so full of grieved surprise and mournful upbraiding.