What's the matter ?" "That if poor Mrs.Vavasour wishes to see her husband alive, she must be here in four-and-twenty hours.

I'll tell you all presently--" "Mary, my coat and comforter!" cries Mark, jumping up.
"And, Mary, a pen and ink to write the message," says Tom.
"Oh! cannot I be of any use ?" says Mary.
"No, you angel." "You must not call me an angel, Mr.Thurnall.After all, what can I do which you have not done already ?" Tom started.

Grace had once used to him the very same words.

By the by, what was it in the two women which made them so like?
Certainly, neither face nor fortune.

Something in the tones of their voices.
"Ah! if Grace had Mary's fortune, or Mary Grace's face!" thought Tom, as he hurried back to Elsley, and Mark rushed down to the station.
Elsley was conscious when he returned, and only too conscious.