At this moment the physician entered; and hearing what had passed, declared that the sooner he could make me understand what had happened, and shed tears (for I had shed none yet), the sooner I should recover, and he advised his beginning to do it directly. Accordingly, when I again asked for her he said--"Do you not see my black coat, Helen? and do you not remember our loss?" "O, yes; but I thought our mourning for the dear child was over." "You see!" said Pendarves mournfully. The physician replied--"Till her memory is restored, though her life is spared, a cure is far distant; but persevere." In a fortnight I was able to take air; but I still wondered where my mother was, though I soon forgot her again. But one day Pendarves asked me if I would go and visit the grave of my child, which I had not visited for some time. I thankfully complied, and he dragged me in a garden chair to the church door. It was not without considerable emotion that he supported me to that marble slab which now covered my mother as well as my child, and I caught some of his trembling agitation. "Look there, my poor Helen!" said he. I did look, and read the name of my child. "Look lower yet." I did so, and the words 'Julia Pendarves;' with the sad _et cetera_, met my view, and seemed to restore my shattered comprehension. In a moment the whole agonizing truth rushed upon my mind; and throwing myself on the cold stone, I called upon my departed parent, and wept till I was deluged in tears, and had sobbed myself into the stillness of exhaustion. "Thank God! thou art restored, my beloved, and all will yet, I trust, be well," said my husband as he bore me away. From that time my memory returned, and with it so acute a feeling of what I had lost, that I fear I was ungrateful enough to regret my imbecility. I now insisted on hearing details of all that had occurred since my illness; and I found that my uncle and aunt had come down to attend the funeral of my mother, and that Lord Charles had attended uninvited to pay her that tribute of respect, nor had he returned to London till my life was declared out of danger. How deeply I felt this attention! I also heard that the ladies at the Lodge pestered my husband with letters, to prevail on him to spare his sensibility the pain of following my lost parent to the grave: but that, however he shrunk from the task, he had treated their request with the utmost disregard, saying, that if he had no other motive, the certainty that he was doing what _I_ should have wished, was sufficient.