‘You have not yet had from me one word of gratitude, Mrs. Baxendale,’ she said.  ‘Indeed, I have no words in which to thank you.’

The lady kissed her forehead, pressed the thin hand again, and went for a few moments to Mrs. Hood’s room before departing.

It was nearly an hour before Emily took up the letter to open it.  When at length she did so, she found that it covered only a small sheet of notepaper.  Enclosed was a letter from Mr. Athel, announcing the family’s arrival in London, asking in a kind tone for the latest news, and repeating the message from the twins of which Mrs. Baxendale had spoken.  Wilfrid wrote with admirable delicacy and feeling; he forgot himself wholly in her affliction, and only in those simplest words which can still be made the most powerful uttered the tenderness which he hoped might speak some comfort to her heart.  He did not ask to see her; would she not bid him come to her in her own good time?  And only if her strength rendered it quite easy, he begged for one word of reply.  Mrs. Baxendale would visit her again very shortly, and to her the answer could be given.

Emily returned the writings to their envelope, and sat through the day as she had sat since morning, scarcely ever moving, without heed of things that were said or done in the room.  Before quitting the chair for her bed, she went to spend a quarter of an hour by her mother, whose hand she held throughout the time.  Mrs. Hood lay in the same state of semi-consciousness alternating with sleep.  In the night she generally wandered a little.  But she did not seem to suffer pain.

To-night Emily could not sleep; hitherto her rest had been profound between sunset and early morning.  As she had sat through the day, so she lay now, her eyes fixed in the same intent gaze, as on something unfolding itself before her.  When the nurses had ceased to move about, the house was wrapped in a stillness more complete than of old, for the clock had not been touched since the night when the weight fell.  In the room you might have heard now and then a deep sigh, such sigh as comes from a soul overcharged.

Mrs. Baxendale allowed one day to intervene, then came again.  She did not directly speak of Wilfrid, and only when she sat in significant silence, Emily said: 

’To-morrow I shall go downstairs.  Will you ask Mr. Athel to come and see me?’

‘Gladly I will.  At what hour shall he come?’

‘I shall be down by eleven.’

Later in the day, Mrs. Cartwright and Jessie called.  Hitherto Emily had begged that no one might be admitted save Mrs. Baxendale; she felt it would be unkindness to refuse her friends any longer, and the visitors came up and sat for a while with her.  Both were awed by the face which met them; they talked scarcely above a whisper, and were sadly troubled by the necessity of keeping awatch upon their tongues.