But presently, with the dawn, comes the knowledge that the little girl will live, for she still sleeps soundly. It is only then that Honor (on the doctor quietly persisting in her doing so) consents to give up her place to Molly, and with a thankful heart she goes to take the rest which, now that the suspense is over, she is obliged to confess that she sadly needs. As the doctor returns to his own house that same morning, he looks in at the Rosery, and delights the two old gentlemen with the good news he has to tell them. Not very long afterwards the brothers walk up to the Rookery together, but declining to stir an inch beyond the doorstep, make their inquiries of Doris—who comes out to see them—in a hushed, low voice, and having intrusted her with the lovely posy of spring flowers which they have brought for Daisy, go softly down the steps and gravel-walk on tiptoe, that no sound may reach the room above, where lies the little sufferer.
Daisy, now having taken a turn for the better, makes rapid progress for a little while; but once having left her bed, an intense weakness and lassitude set in which take the united strength of the whole family to battle against. For Daisy will not eat, unless someone stands over her and compels her to do so. She becomes fretful too; and being too young herself to see the necessity of trying to take the strengthening food that is brought to her at intervals, she gets quite cross, telling them all plainly that it is very unkind to tease her so, and that if she likes to give the greater part of her dainty food to Timothy (who is always in close attendance at meal-times), she doesn't see why she shouldn't. So Mrs. Merivale implores, the girls coax and persuade, and the doctor scolds a little sometimes, till finding he must exert his authority, he proceeds to do so in a manner which astonishes no one so much as the little lady herself.
The effort once made, Daisy's appetite improves little by little, until at length she gives very practical illustration of that sensible French proverb, "L'appetit vient en mangeant."
Every one (with the exception of Timothy, perhaps) is delighted with this improvement, and it is now that Honor has reason to be so grateful to the Mr. Talboys; for when once the little invalid is sufficiently convalescent to take such things, jellies, both sweet and savoury, strong soups, good old port (a hint as to which, perhaps, Dr. Sinclair is answerable for), and, indeed, all the nourishing things that can be thought of, are showered down upon the household for little Daisy's benefit.
It is a subject for deep thankfulness to Mrs. Merivale and her elder daughters that, in their days of adversity, they should have been thrown amongst such generous, warm-hearted friends; for although no one actually puts the thought into words, they all know full well in their secret hearts that were it not for the generosity of their two kind old landlords, little Daisy would never have thrown off the terrible weakness which assailed her when the actual illness was a thing of the past.
The day of the Messrs. Talboys' first visit to their little favourite was an occasion to be remembered by all; so overcome with emotion were they at first, and then so almost boyishly delighted when they found that Daisy could manage to chat with them a little. Both the old gentlemen's handkerchiefs did active duty for a few minutes at first, but they soon recovered their spirits in presenting the child with the little gifts, with which, as a matter of course, they had come laden.
The time allowed for the first visit soon slips away, however; but it is arranged that directly Daisy is well enough to sit up for any length of time, the Mr. Talboys shall come to tea with her one day. They take their departure quite satisfied therefore, looking back and nodding and smiling so many times that Mr. Ned, who is gradually backing towards the stairs, is only saved from shooting headlong down by Doris, who, appearing on the scene just at the critical moment, grasps his arms and restores his balance before he knows where he is.
From this time the days go on monotonously enough. The doctor comes and goes, though not every day now, of course; and the two old gentlemen trot backwards and forwards, always bringing something for the little invalid, until her mother and sisters have to tell them that they are fast doing their best to spoil their pet.
Household matters also go on very much as before; and now that the greater trouble is lifted off their shoulders, the same little everyday annoyances and vexations begin to harass and worry the girls again. Clothes wear out, especially boots and shoes. Then Becky one day, with her cap more awry even than usual in the excitement of the moment, suddenly announces the startling and pleasing intelligence that "There ain't no more coals in the cellar than what'll light the kitchen fire to-morrow morning!"
Honor, too, begins to worry terribly about the entire cessation of Dick's studies. Daisy (before her illness) and Bobby, she and the other girls could very well manage between them, but Dick they feel to be altogether beyond them; and many an hour is spent by Honor at night, tossing and turning, and wondering what can be done for the boy.