‘Here; lend us a hand, and let me get off this thundering bed anyhow.’

Illness had not improved Mr. Sikes’s temper; for, as the girl raised him up and led him to a chair, he muttered various curses on her awkwardness, and struck her.

‘Whining are you?’ said Sikes. ‘Come! Don’t stand snivelling there. If you can’t do anything better than that, cut off altogether. D’ye hear me?’

‘I hear you,’ replied the girl, turning her face aside, and forcing a laugh. ‘What fancy have you got in your head now?’

‘Oh! you’ve thought better of it, have you?’ growled Sikes, marking the tear which trembled in her eye. ‘All the better for you, you have.’