“Oh not none!”

“Do not let worry about this increase other ills,” he said, kindly, “do not think about this again till you hear from me.”

“Is that possible?”

“I should not have thought so, if I had not watched my uncle cast off troubles about his eye-sight and the keeping his living.”

“Ah! but those were not of his own making.”

“‘There is a sparkle even in the darkest water.’  That was a saying of his,” said Alick, looking anxiously at her pale cheek and down-cast eye.

“Not when they are turbid.”

“They will clear,” he said, and smiled with a look of encouraging hope that again cheered her in spite of herself.  “Meantime remember that in any way I can help you, it will be the greatest favour—­” he checked himself as he observed the exceeding languor and lassitude apparent in her whole person, and only said, “My sister is too much at the bottom of it for me not to feel it the greatest kindness to me to let me try to be of the slightest use.  I believe I had better go now,” as he rose and looked at her wistfully; “you are too much tired to talk.”

“I believe I am,” she said, almost reluctantly, “but thank you, this has done me good.”

“And you are really getting better?”

“Yes, I believe so.  Perhaps I may feel it when this terrible day is over.”

What a comfort it would be, she said to herself, when he was gone, if we had but a near relation like him, who would act for the mother, instead of our being delivered up, bound hand and foot, to Mr. Cox.  It would have been refreshing to have kept him now, if I could have done it without talking; it really seemed to keep the horrible thoughts in abeyance, to hear that wonderfully gentle tone!  And how kind and soft the look was!  I do feel stronger for it!  Will it really be better after next week?  Alas! that will have undone nothing.

Yet even this perception of a possibility of hope that there would be relief after the ordeal, was new to Rachel; and it soon gave way to that trying feature of illness, the insurmountable dread of the mere physical fatigue.  The Dean of Avoncester, a kind old friend of Mrs. Curtis, had insisted on the mother and daughters coming to sleep at the Deanery, on the Tuesday night, and remaining till the day after the trial; but Rachel’s imagination was not even as yet equal to the endurance of the long drive, far less of the formality of a visit.  Lady Temple was likewise asked to the Deanery, but Conrade was still too ill for her to think of leaving him for more than the few needful hours of the trial; nor had Alison been able to do more than pay an occasional visit at her sister’s window to exchange reports, and so absorbed was she in her boys and their mother, that it was quite an effort of recollection to keep up to Ermine’s accounts of Colonel Keith’s doings.

It was on the Monday afternoon, the first time she had ventured into the room, taking advantage of Rose having condescended to go out with the Temple nursery establishment, when she found Ermine’s transparent face all alive with expectation.  “He may come any time now,” she said; “his coming to-day or to-morrow was to depend on his getting his business done on Saturday or not.”