advanced in excuse must surely be correct, in view of her recent kindness and more tolerant treatment of him. He could not do without Nancy! She had become as necessary to him and as indispensable as breath to his body, and for this reason alone he must be careful how he addressed himself to the bottle in future. Impossible that he should ever live without her! She would come to him again to-night, the fresher for his enforced abstinence, or he would know the reason why!
Some semblance of his old complacency seemed to flow into him at this last thought and, flinging off the bedclothes, he got out of bed; but as the cold air of the room struck his body he shivered, frowned, and losing his satisfied look, reached hurriedly for his clothes, which lay in a disordered heap upon a near-by qhair. He struggled into these garments with the utmost dispatch, giving his face alone some transient attention with water and soap before assuming his soiled linen collar, knotting his stringy tie and throwing on his baggy coat and waistcoat. The economy in time was considerable, for the whole process of dressing had not taken five minutes, and now he was ready, albeit after a fashion, to descend the stairs and consume his morning meal.
"Good mornin' to you, Brodie," cried Nancy agreeably, as he entered the kitchen. "You're on time all right to-day! How did ye sleep?"
"Not so weel as I would have liked," he replied heavily. "I was cold! Still, I've a feeling I'll be cosier to-night."
"You're not blate so early in the mornin'," she answered, with a toss of her head. "Sup up your porridge and be quiet."
He considered the porridge with pursed lips and some show of repugnance as he exclaimed:
"I don't feel like them somehow, Nancy. They're heavy on a man's stomach at breakfast time. They might do for supper but I can't think of them the now. Have ye anything else?"
"I've got a nice, sweet kipper in the pan just done to a turn," she cried complacently. "Don't eat the porridge if ye're not in the mood. I'll get ye the other this very minute."
He followed her active figure, observing the swirl of her skirts, the fluent movements of her neat feet and ankles as she rushed to carry out her words, and he was filled by a sudden appreciation of the marked improvement in her attitude towards him. She was coming near to him again, no longer looking at him with that sparkle of animosity in her eyes, but was even now running after him in a fashion strangely reminiscent of his wife's eagerness to serve him. He felt the comfort of being once more looked after with this devotion, especially as it came from his beloved but independent Nancy, and when she returned with the dish, he looked at her from the corner of his eyes and remarked:
"You're drawin' round to me again, I see. I can mind of mornings when some burnt porridge was good enough to fling at a poor man for his breakfast, but this juicy kipper is more to my taste, and your way o' lookin' at me is more to my likin' still. You're fond of me, Nancy, aren't ye?"
She gazed down at his tired face, lined, hollowed, disfigured by a two days' stubble of beard and split by a forced and unbefitting smile, envisaged his bowed and slovenly figure, his tremulous hands and uncared-for finger nails, and with a shrill little laugh, she cried:
"True enough, man! I've such a feelin' for ye now that I hardly like to own it. It fair makes my heart loup when I look at ye sometimes."
His smile was extinguished, his eyes puckered intently, and he answered:
"It's a treat for me to hear ye say that, Nancy! I know it's downright wrong o' me to tell ye, but I can't help it, I've got to depend on ye now something extraordinar'." Then, still disregarding his breakfast, he continued almost apologetically, as though he defended his conduct, "I never would have believed I could draw to anybody so much. I didna think I was that kind o' man, but ye see, I had to do without for so lang that when when we came thegither weel ye've fair taken hold of me. That's pkfin truth. Ye're not angry at me for tellin' ye a' this, are ye now?"
"No! No!" she exclaimed hurriedly. "Not a bit, Brodie. I should understand ye by this time. But come on now, don't waste the good kipper Pve taken the trouble to cook ye. I'm wantin' to hear how ye like it. And I’m anxious for ye to make a good breakfast, for you'll have to take your dinner out to-day."
"Take my dinner out! What for?" he exclaimed, in some surprise.
"Ye were away at Overton only last week ye're surely not goin' to see that aunt o' yours again?"
"No, I'm not!" she cried, with a pert toss of her head, "but she's comin' to see me! And I'm not wantin' you runnin' round after me, with her, that's a decent unsuspectin' body ay, and one that's fond o' me starin' the eyes out of her heid at your palavers. Ye can come home in the evenin'. Then I'll be ready for ye."
He glared at her for a moment with a dark countenance, then, suddenly relaxing, he shook his head slowly. "Damnation, woman! But ye have the cheek on ye. To think that you've got the length o' entertain! n' your friends in my house! Gad! It makes me see how far ye can go with me. I should have warmed the backside o' ye for doin' a thing like that without first askin' me but ye know I canna be angry with ye. It seems there's no end to the liberties you'll take with me."
"What's the harm?" she demanded primly. "Can an honest housekeeper body not see her relations if she wants to? It'll do ye good to have a snack outside; then I'll have a surprise all ready for ye when ye come."
He looked at her doubtfully.
"Surprise is the right word, after the way you've been treatin' me." He paused and added grimly, "I'm damned if I know what makes me so soft wi' ye."
"Don't talk like that, Brodie," she reprimanded mildly. "Your language is like a heathen Chinaman's sometimes."
"What do you know about Chinamen?" he retorted moodily, at last turning his attention towards the kipper and beginning to consume it in slow, large mouthfuls. After a moment he remarked, in an altered tone, "This has a relish in it, Nancy it's the sort of thing I can fancy in the mornin's now."
She continued to look at him in an oddly restrained fashion as he conveyed the food to his lowered mouth, then suddenly a thought seemed to strike her, and she cried:
"Guidsakes, what am I dreamin' about! There's a letter came for ye this mornin' that I forgot a' about."
"What!" he retorted, arresting his movements and glancing up in surprise from under his thick, greying eyebrows. "A letter for me!"
"Ay! I clean forgot in the hurry to get your breakfast. Here it is," and she took a letter from the corner of the dresser and handed it to him. He held the letter for a moment in his outstretched hand, drew it near to him with a puzzled look in his eyes, observed that it was stamped by the postmark of London, then, carelessly inserting his thick thumb, ripped the envelope open and drew out the sheet within. Watching him with some slight interest as he read the written words, Nancy observed the expressions of bewilderment, amazement, enlightenment, and triumph sweep across his face with the rapidity of clouds traversing a dark and windy sky. Finally his expression assumed a strange satisfaction as he turned the letter, again read it slowly through, and, lifting his eyes, fixed them upon the distance.
"Would ye believe it," he muttered, "and after all this time!"
"What?" she cried. "What is it about?"
"She has climbed down and wants to come crawlin' back!" He paused, absorbed in his own considerations, as though his words had been sufficient to enlighten her fully.
"I don't know what you mean," she exclaimed sharply. "Who are ye talkin' about?"