The Woodlanders

Grace's exhibition of herself, in the act of pulling-to the

window-curtains, had been the result of an unfortunate incident in the

house that day--nothing less than the illness of Grammer Oliver, a

woman who had never till now lain down for such a reason in her life.

Like others to whom unbroken years of health has made the idea of

keeping their bed almost as repugnant as death itself, she had

continued on foot till she literally fell on the floor; and though she

had, as yet, been scarcely a day off duty, she had sickened into quite

a different personage from the independent Grammer of the yard and

spar-house. Ill as she was, on one point she was firm. On no account

would she see a doctor; in other words, Fitzpiers.

The room in which Grace had been discerned was not her own, but the old

woman's. On the girl's way to bed she had received a message from

Grammer, to the effect that she would much like to speak to her that

night.

Grace entered, and set the candle on a low chair beside the bed, so

that the profile of Grammer as she lay cast itself in a keen shadow

upon the whitened wall, her large head being still further magnified by

an enormous turban, which was, really, her petticoat wound in a wreath

round her temples. Grace put the room a little in order, and

approaching the sick woman, said, "I am come, Grammer, as you wish. Do

let us send for the doctor before it gets later."

"I will not have him," said Grammer Oliver, decisively.

"Then somebody to sit up with you."

"Can't abear it! No; I wanted to see you, Miss Grace, because 'ch have

something on my mind. Dear Miss Grace, I TOOK THAT MONEY OF THE

DOCTOR, AFTER ALL!"

"What money?"

"The ten pounds."

Grace did not quite understand.

"The ten pounds he offered me for my head, because I've a large brain.

I signed a paper when I took the money, not feeling concerned about it

at all. I have not liked to tell ye that it was really settled with

him, because you showed such horror at the notion. Well, having

thought it over more at length, I wish I hadn't done it; and it weighs

upon my mind. John South's death of fear about the tree makes me think

that I shall die of this....'Ch have been going to ask him again to let

me off, but I hadn't the face."

"Why?"