maid, Barbara, in all her respectability.

Much wit had been expended by Aubrey on being left to the tender
mercy of cruel Barbara Allen, in whom Ethel herself anticipated a
tyrant; but at the moment she was invaluable. Every room was ready
and inviting, and nothing but the low staircase between Leonard and
the white bed, which was the only place fit for him; while for the
rest, the table was speedily covered with tea and chickens;
Abbotstoke eggs, inscribed with yesterday's date; and red mail-clad
prawns, to prove to touch and taste that this was truly sea-side.
The other senses knew it well: the open window let in the
indescribable salt, fresh odour, and the entire view from it was
shore and sea, there seemed nothing to hinder the tide from coming up
the ridge of shingle, and rushing straight into the cottage; and the
ear was constantly struck by the regular roll and dash of the waves.
Aubrey, though with the appetite of recovery and sea-air combined,
could not help pausing to listen, and, when his meal was over, leant
back in his chair, listened again, and gave a sigh of content. 'It
is one constant hush, hushaby,' he said; 'it would make one sleep
pleasantly.'

His companions combined their advice to him so to use it; and in less
than half an hour Ethel went to bid him good night, in the whitest of
beds and cleanest of tiny chambers, where he looked the picture of
sleepy satisfaction, when she opened his window, and admitted the
swell and dash that fascinated his weary senses.

'My child is all right,' said Ethel, returning to Dr. Spencer; 'can
you say the same of yours?'