That evening, I felt in duty bound to go, as a neighbor, to inquire for the sick.  I went, but found no one below.  When Ellen came down, she said that Jane was quite ill.  I remained in the keeping-room all the evening, mostly alone, asked if I could do anything for them, and obtained some commissions for the next day at the village.

Jane’s illness, though long, was not dangerous,—­at least, not to her.  To me it was most perilous, particularly the convalescence; for then I could be of so much use to her!  The days were long and spring-like.  Wild flowers appeared.  She liked them, and I managed that she should never be without a bunch of them.  She liked paintings, and I brought over my own portfolio.  She must have wondered at the number of violets and roses therein.  The readings went on and seemed more delicious than ever.  I owned a horse and chaise, and for a whole week debated whether it would be safe for me to take her to drive.  But I didn’t; for I should have been obliged to hand her in, to help her out, and to sit close beside her all alone.  All that could never be done without my betraying myself.  But she got well without any drives; and by the latter part of April, when the evenings had become very short, I thought it high time to begin to skip one.  I began on Monday.  I kept away all day, all the evening, and all the next day.  Tuesday evening, just before dark, I took the path across the field.  The two girls were at work making a flower-garden.  “Pink and Blue” had a spade, and was actually spading up the ground.  I caught it from her hand so quickly that she looked up almost frightened.  Her face was flushed with exercise; but her blue eyes looked tired.  How I reproached myself for not coming sooner!  At dark, I went in with them.  We took our accustomed seats, and I read.  “Paradise regained” was what I kept thinking of.  Once, when I moved my seat, that I might be directly opposite Jane, who was lying on the coach, I thought I saw Ellen and her mother exchange glances.  I was suspected, then,—­and with all the pains I had taken, too.  This rather upset me; and what with my joy at being with Jane, my exertions to hide it, and my mortification at being discovered, my reading, I fear, was far from satisfactory.

The next morning I went early to the flower-garden, and, before anybody was stirring, had it all hoed and raked over, so that no more hard work could be done there.  I didn’t go in.  Thursday night I went again, and again Saturday night.  The next week I skipped two evenings, and the next, three, and flattered myself I was doing bravely.  Jane never asked me why I came so seldom, but Ellen did frequently; and I always replied that I was very busy.  Those were truly days of suffering.  Nevertheless, having formed my resolution, I determined to abide by it.  God only knew what it cost me.  On the beautiful May mornings, and during the long “after tea,” which always comes into country-life, I could watch them, watch her, from my window, while the planting, watering, and weeding went on in the flower-garden.  I saw them go in at dark, saw the light appear in the keeping-room, and fancied them sitting at their work, wondering, perhaps, that nobody came to read to them.