’Biddy never feels responsible for anything—­not even for learning her lessons or being ready for meals,’ said her mother.

’Well, that is just what wants awaking in her.  This lesson may show her that even a child is responsible, that a child may cause sad trouble.  One would rather she had learnt it the other way, but it may be what she needed.’

Mrs. Vane sighed.  She wanted to be patient, but she could hardly bring herself to feel that a lesson which was to cost Biddy’s father such suffering, nay, even to risk his life perhaps, would not be too dearly bought.

The doctor came, but he was not much more outspoken than the night before.  Biddy was to be kept very quiet, the more she could sleep the better; as for Mr. Vane, he hoped it would not be rheumatic fever, but it was plain he feared it.  And he advised Mrs. Vane to get a trained nurse.

A trying time followed.  For some days it seemed almost certain that Mr. Vane was in for rheumatic fever; in the end he just managed to escape it, but he was sadly weakened, and the cough, which had disappeared since his coming to Seacove, began again.  It would be weeks before he could leave his room.

And Biddy, too, did not get well as had been expected.  She lay there white and silent as if she did not want to get better, only seeming thoroughly to wake up when she asked, as she did at least every two hours, how papa was, and sinking back again when the usual answer came of ‘No better,’ or ‘Very little better.’  Her mother was very kind to her, but she could not be much with Biddy, and perhaps it was as well, for it would have been almost impossible for her to hide for long her great unhappiness about Mr. Vane.

Mrs. Fairchild came to the Rectory as often as she could; sometimes she sat with Biddy for an hour or more at a time, but Biddy scarcely spoke, and Celestina’s mother was both sorry for her and anxious about her.

‘There seems no one able to pay much attention to her,’ she said one evening at home; ’poor Mrs. Vane is so taken up, and no wonder, with her husband, and Rosalys is as busy as she can be, helping and seeing to everything.’

There came a little voice from the other side of the table:  the Fairchilds were at tea.

‘Mother, do you think I might go to see her?’ it asked.  ’I’d be very quiet.’

‘I’ll ask,’ Mrs. Fairchild answered.  ’You might come with me to-morrow and wait outside while I find out if it would do.’

Mrs. Vane had no objection—­Biddy was really not ill now, she said.  It was just one of her queer ways to lie still and refuse to get up.  Perhaps Celestina would make her ashamed of herself.  So Celestina was brought upstairs, and tapped gently at the door.

‘Come in,’ said Bridget, though without looking up.  But when the neat little figure came forward, close to the bedside, and she glanced round and saw who it was, a smile came over her face—­the first for a long time.