Mrs. Forbes was considered to be a little fanciful as to illness; but it was no wonder, remembering how many sisters she had lost by consumption.  Miss Monro had often grumbled at the way in which her pupils were made irregular for very trifling causes.  But no one so alarmed as she, when, in the autumn succeeding Mr. Ness’s death, Mrs. Forbes remarked to her on Ellinor’s increased delicacy of appearance, and shortness of breathing.  From that time forwards she worried Ellinor (if any one so sweet and patient could ever have been worried) with respirators and precautions.  Ellinor submitted to all her friend’s wishes and cares, sooner than make her anxious, and remained a prisoner in the house through the whole of November.  Then Miss Monro’s anxiety took another turn.  Ellinor’s appetite and spirits failed her—­not at all an unnatural consequence of so many weeks’ confinement to the house.  A plan was started, quite suddenly, one morning in December, that met with approval from everyone but Ellinor, who was, however, by this time too languid to make much resistance.

Mrs. Forbes and her daughters were going to Rome for three or four months, so as to avoid the trying east winds of spring; why should not Miss Wilkins go with them?  They urged it, and Miss Monro urged it, though with a little private sinking of the heart at the idea of the long separation from one who was almost like a child to her.  Ellinor was, as it were, lifted off her feet and borne away by the unanimous opinion of others—­the doctor included—­who decided that such a step was highly desirable; if not absolutely necessary.  She knew that she had only a life interest both in her father’s property and in that bequeathed to her by Mr. Ness.  Hitherto she had not felt much troubled by this, as she had supposed that in the natural course of events she should survive Miss Monro and Dixon, both of whom she looked upon as dependent upon her.  All she had to bequeath to the two was the small savings, which would not nearly suffice for both purposes, especially considering that Miss Monro had given up her teaching, and that both she and Dixon were passing into years.

Before Ellinor left England she had made every arrangement for the contingency of her death abroad that Mr. Johnson could suggest.  She had written and sent a long letter to Dixon; and a shorter one was left in charge of Canon Livingstone (she dared not hint at the possibility of her dying to Miss Monro) to be sent to the old man.

As they drove out of the King’s Cross station, they passed a gentleman’s carriage entering.  Ellinor saw a bright, handsome lady, a nurse, and baby inside, and a gentleman sitting by them whose face she could never forget.  It was Mr. Corbet taking his wife and child to the railway.  They were going on a Christmas visit to East Chester deanery.  He had been leaning back, not noticing the passers-by, not attending to the other inmates of the carriage, probably absorbed in the consideration of some law case.  Such were the casual glimpses Ellinor had of one with whose life she had once thought herself bound up.