Even our ugly garden showed faint traces of the resurrection of all things. A stunted lilac-tree was putting out buds. An almond-tree was adorning itself in a hazy pink robe. There was a faint, tender perfume of violets in the air. I turned the handle of the shabby little front-door and went in. If spring had given tokens of its presence outside, however, it had printed no fairy footfall inside our ugly and desolate little home. Inside there was close air, confusion, untidiness; but there was also something else--supreme terror, a dark fear. The shadow of this fear sat on my father's brow. He hurried to meet me the moment I set foot inside the threshold; his face was unkempt, unwashed, his eyes bloodshot; he held out a trembling hand, and grasped my shoulder. "Thank heaven you have come, Rose," he said. "How is mother?" I managed to gasp. My father's painful clutch on my shoulder grew harder and firmer. "Come in here," he said. He dragged me into the drawing-room, and softly closed the door. "Listen," he said; "yesterday night your mother's cough grew worse; this morning she broke a blood-vessel." "Then she is dying," I said in a voice of terror. "No, she shan't die--you have got to save her!" "I? Father--father--how can I?" "Don't prevaricate--don't look me in the face, and tell lies at this moment. Dr Johnson and Dr Keith, from London, are both up-stairs. They will tell you what you have to do. Go to them; obey their directions. There is not a moment to be lost." My father's trembling hand still held my shoulder; he emphasised his words with cruel pinches. I wrenched myself away with a sudden effort. "You hurt me when you hold me like that," I said. "Who cares whether I hurt you or not, child? it's your mother's life that hangs in the balance. What matter about _you_--what are _you_? Go up-stairs to the doctors. Listen to their directions and obey them." I was sobbing feebly. My father's manner had unnerved me. "I hate women who cry," he said, turning away. "You have always made a great profession of caring for your mother. Go up-stairs now, and act on it." "How can I?" I repeated. "Father, why do you speak to me as you are doing? My mother wants money, peace, rest." "Exactly, Rosamund. Penury and a hard life are killing your mother. Go up-stairs. Don't talk any more humbug. Get your mother what she wants. Gray, the lawyer, has been here this morning." "Oh," I said, "and he has told you?" "He has told me that you can be rich if you please. He has told me also the source from which the wealth can come. You think that I will shrink from that source. I shrink from nothing that will save your mother. Gray thinks it highly probable that you will act like a weak idiot." "Father, did Mr Gray tell you what I had to do?" "He did not. I did not ask him. Whatever it is, do it. Go up-stairs now and see the doctors."