'These words were very faintly and wearily spoken; then her eyes closed again, and Henrietta, signing to me not to disturb her, drew me gently away from the bed. I made no remonstrance when she arranged some cloaks at the other end of the room, and begged me to lie down and try to sleep. All the afternoon I had felt tired and drowsy, and as if a heavy weight was pressing down my eyes. Now my head was aching painfully, my throat felt terribly parched and sore, and I lay down and sobbed on drearily, while Henrietta made me as comfortable as she could, and then went to keep watch by Bessie's side.
'"Perhaps she will be better to-morrow, if she goes to sleep," I murmured dreamily. But Henrietta's only answer was a silent kiss; and that is the last I remember of that weary night.
'It was broad daylight when I next opened my eyes. Henrietta was standing over me with a white worn face, and eyelids red and swollen with tears. I just recollect noticing this, and also vaguely wondering where Bessie was, for she was not lying on the mattress now; and when I raised my head, and tried to look round the room, there seemed no one there but Henrietta and myself. But I did not ask her any questions, and I made no reply when she spoke to me. In fact, her words did not seem to reach my senses, I felt far too ill and wretched to care for anything, except to be left alone. I certainly was conscious of an intense desire for that. It was agony to move my head, and my throat was so much swollen, and so painful, that I could scarcely breathe, much less speak. Certain hazy recollections I have of the turnkey's wife lifting me up, and pouring something down my throat. Then comes a long blank in my memory—that is, not quite a blank, for I have a confused remembrance of long restless nights and constant thirst, and horrible nightmare feelings, one of which was, that mamma perpetually appeared, bringing me a cup of cider, but that directly I tried to take it from her hand, she invariably dashed it to the ground. I woke up in my sound senses again. I heard Henrietta talking to somebody.
'"She will never get well here. The doctor told me so this morning. He says she must have pure air and wholesome, nourishing food; that nothing else can save her. Oh! what shall I do?"
'"Ah, poor little heart," said the voice of the turnkey's wife; "she is sorely changed, to be sure. She don't look as if you'd keep her here much longer. Well-a-day! My heart aches for her mother, poor lady; and they say her father's well-nigh ruined with gambling, and that's why he can't pay the fine."
'"And you sent the letter? You are certain that it went by a sure hand?" Henrietta asked anxiously.
'"Yes, yes, mistress, the letter's gone safe enough. But I've heard tell that they'll never let her come here till the money's paid; and sure she'll fret sadly to think how the poor child's lying sick and calling for her."
'"Henrietta," I said, when I heard the woman leave the room, "have you been writing to mamma?"
'She was looking down at me with a perplexed, pained countenance, but my words made it light up with a bright gleam of joy.
'"Frances, my darling, are you better? How glad I am to hear you speak like yourself again!"