The Last.  
When Robin and I reached the abode of our old friend—in a state, let me add, of almost irrepressible excitement—we found her seated in the old arm-chair by the window, gazing sadly out on the prospect.
 
It was not now the prospect of red brick and water-spout, with a remote distance of chimney—cans and cats, which had crushed the old lady’s spirit in other days—by no means. There was a picturesque little court, with an old pump in the centre to awaken the fancy, and frequent visits from more or less diabolical street-boys, to excite the imagination. Beyond that there was the mews, in which a lively scene of variance between horses and men was enacted from morning till night—a scene which derived much additional charm from the fact that Mrs Willis, being short-sighted, formed fearfully incorrect estimates of men, and beasts, and things in general.
 
“Well, granny, how are you?” said I, seating myself on a stool beside her, and thinking how I should begin.
 
“Pretty griggy—eh?” inquired little Slidder.
 
“Ah! there you are, my dear boys,” said the old lady, who had latterly got to look upon me and my protégé as brothers. “You are always sure to come, whoever fails me.”
 
“Has any one failed you to-day, granny?” I asked.
 
“Yes, Dr McTougall has,” she replied as petulantly as it was possible for her to speak. “I’ve been feeling very low and weak to-day, and sent for him; but I suppose he thinks it’s only imagination. Well, well, perhaps it is,” she added, after a pause, and with a little sigh. “I’m very foolish, no doubt.”
 
“No, granny,” said I, “you’re not foolish,”—(“Contrariwise, wery much the reverse,” interrupted Slidder)—“and I’m glad that I chanced to come in, because, perhaps, I may be able to prescribe for you as well as he.”
 
“Better, dear boy, better”—(“That’s it, cheer up!” from Slidder)—“and it always does me a world of good to see your handsome face.”
 
“Well, granny,” said I, with a flutter at my heart, as I looked up at her thin careworn face, and began to break the ice with caution, “I’ve come—I—there’s a little piece of—of—”
 
“Now then, dig in the spurs, doctor, an’ go at it—neck or nuffin’,” murmured my impatient companion.
 
“What are you saying, Robin?” asked Mrs Willis, with a slightly anxious look. “There’s nothing wrong, I hope?”
 
“No, no; nothing wrong, granny,” said I, hastening to the point; “very much the reverse. But—but—you heard of my accident, of course?” I said, suddenly losing heart and beating about the bush.
 
“Stuck again!” murmured Slidder, in a tone of disgust.
 
“Yes, yes; I heard of it. You don’t mean to say that you’re getting worse?” said the old lady, with increasing anxiety.
 
“Oh no! I’m better—much better. Indeed, I don’t think I ever felt so well in my life; and I’ve just heard a piece of good news, which, I’m quite sure, will make you very glad—very glad indeed!”
 
“Go it, sir! Another burst like that and you’ll be clear out o’ the wood,” murmured Slidder.
 
“In fact,” said I, as a sudden thought struck, “I’m going to be married!”
 
“Whew! you never told me that!” exclaimed Slidder, with widening eyes.
 
“Will you be quiet, Robin?” said I, rather sternly; “how can I get over this very difficult matter if you go on interrupting me so?”
 
“Mum’s the word!” returned the boy, folding his hands, and assuming a look of ridiculous solemnity.
 
At that moment we heard a noise of pattering feet on the landing outside. The door, which had not been properly closed, burst open, and my doggie came into the room all of a heap. After a brief moment lost in apparently searching for his hind-legs, he began to dance and frisk about the room as if all his limbs were whalebone and his spirit quicksilver.
 
“Oh, there’s that dog again! Put it out! put it out!” cried Mrs Willis, gathering her old skirts around her feet.
 
“Get out, Dumps! how dare you come here, sir, without leave?”
 
“I gave him leave,” said a sweet voice in the passage.
 
Next moment a sweeter face was smiling upon me, as Edith entered the room.
 
There was a feeble cry at the window. I observed that the sweet smile vanished, and a deadly pallor overspread Edith’s face, while her eyes gazed with eager surprise at the old lady for a few seconds. Mrs Willis sat with answering gaze and outstretched arms.
 
“Edie!”
 
“Granny!” was all that either could gasp, but there was no need for more—the lost ones were mutually found! With an indescribable cry of joy Edith sprang forward, fell on her knees, and enfolded granny in her arms.
 
“’Ere you are, doctor,” whispered Robin, touching me on the elbow and presenting a tumbler of water.
 
“How? What?”
 
“She’ll need it, doctor. I knows her well, an’ it’s the on’y thing as does her good w’en she’s took bad.”
 
Slidder was right. The shock of joy was almost too much for the old lady. She leaned heavily on her granddaughter’s neck, and if I had not caught her, both must have fallen to the ground. We lifted her gently into bed, and in a few minutes she recovered.
 
For some time she lay perfectly still. Edith, reclining on the lowly couch, rested her fair young cheek on the withered old one.
 
Presently Mrs Willis moved, and Edith sat up.
 
“John,” said the former to me, looking at the latter, “this is my Edie, thanks be to the Lord.”
 
“Yes, granny, I know it, and she’s my Edie too!”
 
A surprised and troubled look came on her old face. She evidently was pained to think that I could jest at such a moment. I hastened to relieve her.
 
“It is the plain and happy truth that I tell you, granny. Edith is engaged to marry me.—Is it not so?”
 
I turned towards the dear girl, who silently put one of her hands in mine.
 
Old Mrs Willis spoke no word, but I could see that her soul was full of joy. I chanced to glance at Robin, and observed that that waif had retired to the window, and was absolutely wiping his eyes, while Dumps sat observant in the middle of the room, evidently much surprised at, but not much pleased with, the sudden calm which had succeeded the outburst.
 
“Come, Robin,” said I, rising, “I think that you and I will leave them—Good-bye, granny and Edie; I shall soon see you again.”
 
I paused at the door and looked back.
 
“Come, Dumps, come.”
 
My doggie wagged his scrumpy tail, cocked his expressive ears, and glanced from me to his mistress, but did not rise.
 
“Pompey prefers to remain with me,” said Edie; “let him stay.”
 
“Punch is a wise dog,” observed Robin, as we descended the stairs together; “but you don’t ought to let your spirits go down, sir,” he added, with a profoundly sagacious glance, “’cause, of course, he can’t ’elp ’isself now. He’ll ’ave to stick to you wotever ’appens—an’ to me too!”
 
I understood the meaning of his last words, and could not help smiling at the presumptuous certainty with which he assumed that he was going to follow my fortunes.
 
Is it needful to say that when I mentioned what had occurred to Dr McTougall that amiable little man opened his eyes to their widest?
 
“You young dog!” he exclaimed, “was it grateful in you to repay all my kindness by robbing me in this sly manner of my governess—nay, I may say, of my daughter, for I have long ago considered her such, and ad............