“It was somewhere about the beginning of February that Uncle Geoffrey went.”

“The fourth,” said Henrietta.

“And it was three days after he went away that mamma had those first spasms.  Henrietta, she has been six weeks ill!”

“Well,” said Henrietta, “you know she was five weeks without stirring out of the room, that last time she was ill at Rocksand, and she is getting better.”

“I don’t think it is getting better,” said Fred.  “You always say so, but I don’t think you have anything to show for it.”

“You might say the same for yourself,” said Henrietta, laughing.  “You have been getting better these three months, poor man, and you need not boast.”

“Well, at least I can show something for it,” said Fred; “they allow me a lark’s diet instead of a wren’s, I can hold up my head like other people now, and I actually made my own legs and the table’s carry me to the window yesterday, which is what I call getting on.  But I do not think it is so with mamma.  A fortnight ago she used to be up by ten or eleven o’clock; now I don’t believe she ever is till one.”

“It has been close, damp weather,” said Henrietta, surprised at the accurate remembrance, which she could not confute.  “She misses the cold bracing wind.”

“I don’t like it,” said Fred, growing silent, and after a short interval beginning again more earnestly, “Henrietta, neither you nor any one else are keeping anything from me, I trust?”

“O, no, no!” said Henrietta, eagerly.

“You are quite sure?”

“Quite,” responded she.  “You know all I know, every bit; and I know all Aunt Geoffrey does, I am sure I do, for she always tells me what Mr. Philip Carey says.  I have heard Uncle and Aunt Geoffrey both say strong things about keeping people in the dark, and I am convinced they would not do so.”

“I don’t think they would,” said Fred; “but I am not satisfied.  Recollect and tell me clearly, are they convinced that this is only recovering slowly—­I do not mean that; I know too well that this is not a thing to be got rid of; but do they think that she is going to be as well as usual?”

“I do,” said Henrietta, “and you know I am more used to her illness than any of them.  Bennet and I were agreeing to-day that, considering how bad the spasms were, and how much fatigue she had been going through, we could not expect her to get on faster.”

“You do?  But that is not Aunt Geoffrey.”

“O!  Aunt Geoffrey is anxious, and expected her to get on faster, just like Busy Bee expecting everything to be so quick; but I am sure you could not get any more information from her than from me, and impressions—­I am sure you may trust mine, used as I am to watch mamma.”