h" on a
pedestrian excursion to the Lakes. Even Hortense, who would fain have
stayed at home and aided Mrs. Pryor in nursing Caroline, had been so
earnestly entreated by Miss Mann to accompany her once more to Wormwood
Wells, in the hope of alleviating sufferings greatly aggravated by the
insalubrious weather, that she felt obliged to comply; indeed, it was
not in her nature to refuse a request that at once appealed to her
goodness of heart, and, by a confession of dependency, flattered her
_amour propre_. As for Robert, from Birmingham he had gone on to London,
where he still sojourned.

So long as the breath of Asiatic deserts parched Caroline's lips and
fevered her veins, her physical convalescence could not keep pace with
her returning mental tranquillity; but there came a day when the wind
ceased to sob at the eastern gable of the rectory, and at the oriel
window of the church. A little cloud like a man's hand arose in the
west; gusts from the same quarter drove it on and spread it wide; wet
and tempest prevailed a while. When that was over the sun broke out
genially, heaven regained its azure, and earth its green; the livid
cholera-tint had vanished from the face of nature; the hills rose clear
round the horizon, absolved from that pale malaria-haze.

Caroline's youth could now be of some avail to her, and so could her
mother's nurture. Both, crowned by God's blessing, sent in the pure west
wind blowing soft as fresh through the ever-open chamber lattice,
rekindled her long-languishing energies. At last Mrs. Pryor saw that it
was permitted to hope: a genuine, material convalescence had commenced.
It was not merely Caroline's smile which was brighter, or her spirits
which were cheered, but a certain look had passed from her face and
eye--a look dread and indescribable, but which will easily be recalled
by those who have watched the couch of dangerous disease. Long before
the emaciated outlines of her aspect began to fill, or its departed
colour to return, a more subtle change took place; all grew softer and
warmer. Instead of a marble mask and glassy eye, Mrs. Pryor saw laid on
the pillow a face pale and wasted enough, perhaps more haggard than the
other appearance, but less awful; for it was a sick, living girl, not a
mere white mould or rigid piece of statuary.

Now, too, she was not always petitioning to drink. The words, "I am _so_
thirsty," ceased to be her plaint. Sometimes, when she had swallowed a
morsel