d no fears at all for her
friend; but seeing her change and sink from time to time when she paid
her visits, alarm clutched her heart. She went to Mr. Helstone and
expressed herself with so much energy that that gentleman was at last
obliged, however unwillingly, to admit the idea that his niece was ill
of something more than a migraine; and when Mrs. Pryor came and quietly
demanded a physician, he said she might send for two if she liked. One
came, but that one was an oracle. He delivered a dark saying of which
the future was to solve the mystery, wrote some prescriptions, gave some
directions--the whole with an air of crushing authority--pocketed his
fee, and went. Probably he knew well enough he could do no good, but
didn't like to say so.

Still, no rumour of serious illness got wind in the neighbourhood. At
Hollow's Cottage it was thought that Caroline had only a severe cold,
she having written a note to Hortense to that effect; and mademoiselle
contented herself with sending two pots of currant jam, a recipe for a
tisane, and a note of advice.

Mrs. Yorke being told that a physician had been summoned, sneered at the
hypochondriac fancies of the rich and idle, who, she said, having
nothing but themselves to think about, must needs send for a doctor if
only so much as their little finger ached.

The "rich and idle," represented in the person of Caroline, were
meantime falling fast into a condition of prostration, whose quickly
consummated debility puzzled all who witnessed it except one; for that
one alone reflected how liable is the undermined structure to sink in
sudden ruin.

Sick people often have fancies inscrutable to ordinary attendants, and
Caroline had one which even her tender nurse could not at first explain.
On a certain day in the week, at a certain hour, she would--whether
worse or better--entreat to be taken up and dressed, and suffered to sit
in her chair near the window. This station she would retain till noon
was past. Whatever degree of exhaustion or debility her wan aspect
betrayed, she still softly put off all persuasion to seek repose until
the church clock had duly tolled midday. The twelve strokes sounded, she
grew docile, and would meekly lie down. Returned to the couch, she
usually buried her face deep in the pillow, and drew the coverlets close
round her, as if to shut out the world and sun, of which she was tired.
More than once, as she thus lay, a slight convulsion shook the sick-bed