egret our decision, and to be allowed to stand on such terms with each
other was happiness enough then; yet all the time I had a presentiment
that I was giving her up for ever, though I thought it would be the
other way; the more when the next year I had the illness that has made
me good for nothing ever since. That made it much easier to me, for I
should have led her such a life of nursing and anxiety as I would not
inflict on any woman.'

'Surely she had the anxiety all the same?'

'There is a good deal spared by not being on the spot.'

'How can he think so! said Violet to herself. I can't imagine how she
lived as long as she did. 'Did you not see her at all when you were
ill?' she said.

'Yes, we had one great treat that winter when I was at the worst. It was
one of my father's especial pieces of kindness; he wrote to her himself,
and sent Simmonds to fetch her to Martindale.'

'And were you able to enjoy having her?'

'It was inflammation on the chest, so all my senses were free. She used
to sit by me with her sober face, at work, ready to read and talk to
me, and left sayings and thoughts that have brought refreshment at every
such time. It was indeed a blessing that she could come that first time
to teach me how to bear illness.'

'How long did she stay?'

'Only three weeks, for her absence only showed how little she could be
spared; but she left an influence on that room of mine that it has never
lost.'

'How solitary it must have been when you were recovering.'

'I had her letters. I will show you some of them some day. She used to
write almost daily.'

'And it was when you were getting better that you took the great journey
in the East?'

'Yes; Percy had just left Cambridge, and was ready to take the care of
me on his hands. Those two years went pleasantly by, and what a happy
visit it was at Elsdale afterwards! You can't think how this talking
over our travels has brought it back. As long as Mrs. Percival lived we
did pretty well. She made Helen take care of herself, and I could go and
stay there; but after her death the poor old man grew more childish and
exacting. I once tried staying at the curate's, but it did not answer.
He could not bear to have her out of his sight, and had taken an unhappy
aversion to me, fancying me some old admirer of his own daughter, and
always warning her against me.'

'How distressing! How wretched! It would have killed me long before! How
did she bear it? I kno