think. I suppose Mr.
Crawley has been complaining again about the cream in his tea."

Mr. Crawley had on one occasion stated his assured conviction that
surreptitious daily supplies were being brought into the house,
because he had detected the presence of cream instead of milk in his
own cup. As, however, the cream had been going for sundry days before
this, Miss Robarts had not thought much of his ingenuity in making
the discovery.

"Ah, you do not know how he speaks of you when your back is turned."

"And how does he speak of me? I know you would not have the courage
to tell me the whole."

"No, I have not; for you would think it absurd coming from one who
looks like him. He says that if he were to write a poem about
womanhood, he would make you the heroine."

"With a cream-jug in my hand, or else sewing buttons on to a
shirt-collar. But he never forgave me about the mutton broth. He told
me, in so many words, that I was a--story-teller. And for the matter
of that, my dear, so I was."

"He told me that you were an angel."

"Goodness gracious!"

"A ministering angel. And so you have been. I can almost feel it in
my heart to be glad that I have been ill, seeing that I have had you
for my friend."

"But you might have had that good fortune without the fever."

"No, I should not. In my married life I have made no friends till my
illness brought you to me; nor should I ever really have known you
but for that. How should I get to know any one?"

"You will now, Mrs. Crawley; will you not? Promise that you will. You
will come to us at Framley when you are well? You have promised
already, you know."

"You made me do so when I was too weak to refuse."

"And I shall make you keep your promise, too. He shall come, also,
if he likes; but you shall come whether he likes or no. And I won't
hear a word about your old dresses. Old dresses will wear as well at
Framley as at Hogglestock." From all which it will appear that Mrs.
Crawley and Lucy Robarts had become very intimate during this period
of the nursing; as two women always will, or, at least, should do,
when shut up for weeks together in the same sick room.

The conversation was still going on between them when the sound of
wheels was heard upon the road. It was no highway that passed before
the house, and carriages of any sort were not frequent there.

"It is Fanny, I am sure," said Lucy, rising from her chair.

"There are two horses," said Mrs. Crawley, d