'Poor Theodora! Will you not come
and see her?'

'Where is she?'

'She is at the parsonage. They are ready to take us.'

'Oh, no! I cannot go. You go to her.'

'Pray, pray come with me. Theodora is so ill! It would do her so much
good to see you; and we are afraid of her being anxious or distressed,
lest she should have fever. Won't you come?'

A motion, as if she could not bear this, made Violet fear she must
desist, and she paused for a short interval, then said, 'SHE was very
fond of Theodora.'

'Oh! Yes, yes--'

'She would not like her to be left so long.'

'I thought you were taking care of her.'

'Oh, yes! but I cannot be the same as you would. One always wants one's
mother so much in illness.'

'She was always a mother to me!' The tears came at last, and she wept
unrestrainedly; while Violet hung over her with soft caressing words
of sympathy that cannot be detailed, till the first grief had had its
course, and she again tried the experiment of repeating Theodora's name,
and saying how much she was suffering.

Lady Martindale did not reply, but suffered Violet to put on her cloak,
and gradually lead her from the room, saying at each pause something of
'poor Theodora.'

The deed was done; it might be by importunity, but it was worth
achieving, even at the risk of being vexatious. Lord Martindale could
hardly believe his eyes when he saw his wife on her way to the carriage,
and Theodora was equally astonished when she appeared at her bedside.

It was a new thing to see one, hitherto healthy and independent, so
completely prostrated; and no more was needed to awaken the natural
affection so long stifled or thrust aside. Lady Martindale was greatly
shocked, and, perhaps magnifying her daughter's illness, had no room for
any other thought. She wished to do everything for her herself--would
hardly admit Violet's assistance--and took every care, with skilfulness
that was marvellous in one trained to ineffectiveness.

To Theodora her attendance was a new and exquisite repose. It was the
first taste of her mother's love, and made her content to be helpless;
as there she lay, murmuring thanks, and submitting to be petted with a
grateful face of childlike peace, resting in her mother's affection, and
made happy by the depth of warm feeling in her father's words.

'It is a good speculation to be ill,' said she, with a smile of strong
feeling when they had bidden her good night, and left her to Violet, who