half-response. "Indeed, my lady," said Granny
Marrable, "we shall have some time to wait for that, if she will still
eat nothing. A sparrow could not live upon the little food she takes."

What was old Maisie saying? She could live on less than a sparrow's
food--that was the upshot. The sparrow was a greedy little bird, and she
had seen him gormandise in Sapps Court. "My darling Dave and Dolly," she
said, "would feed them, on the leads at the back, out of my bedroom
window, where the cistern is." Gwen perceived the source of a
misapprehension of Dave's.

"He's to come here," said she. "Him and Dolly. And then they can feed
the cocks and hens."

"When I'm up," said old Maisie. She had no misgivings.

"When you're up."

"And Dave may go and see Farmer Jones's Bull?"

"And Dave may go and see Farmer Jones's Bull."

"But not Dolly, because she would be frightened."

"Not Dolly, then. Dolly is small, to see Bulls." Old Maisie closed her
eyes upon this, and enjoyed the thought of Dave's rapture at that
appalling Bull.

Granny Marrable indicated by two glances, one at Gwen, the other at the
white face on the pillow, that her sister might sleep, given silence.
Gwen watched for the slackening of the hand that held hers, to get
gently free. Old Phoebe did the same, and drew the bed-curtain
noiselessly, to hide the window-light. Both stole away, leaving what
might have been an alabaster image, scarcely breathing, on the bed.

"It is the letter that has done it. Oh, _how_ unfortunate!" So Gwen
spoke, to the Granny, in the kitchen: for Ruth, though attending to the
Sunday dinner, was for the moment absent. So the letter could be
referred to.

"I fear what your ladyship says is true."

"But at least we know what it is that has done it. That is _something_."
Granny Marrable seemed slow to understand. "I mean, if it had not been
for the letter, she certainly need not have been any worse than she was
last Sunday. She was getting on so well, Ruth said, on Friday, after the
champagne. Oh dear!"

"It will be as God wills, my lady. If my dear sister is again to be
taken from me...."

"Oh, Granny, do not let us talk like that!" But Gwen could put little
heart into her protest. The doctor had taken all the wind out of her
sails.

Old Phoebe let the interruption pass. "If Maisie dies ..." said she, and
stopped.

"If Maisie dies...?" said Gwen, and waited.

The answer came, but not at once. "It is the second time."

"I