He led the way to another room, and I took the note out of my glove and gave it him. He read it over—to me it appeared a long one—looked at me, and then read it again. "Are you Anne Hereford?" "Yes," I said, wondering how he knew my name. "My aunt, Mrs. Edwin Barley, bade me say she was too ill to write it better, but she hoped you would understand it." "Is she so ill as to be in danger?" "I am afraid so." He still looked at me, and twirled the note in his fingers. I could see that it was written with a pencil. "Do you know the purport of this?" he inquired, pointing to the note. "No sir." "Did you not read it coming along? It was not sealed." "Oh, no. I did not take it out of my glove." "Well—tell Mrs. Edwin Barley that I perfectly understand, and shall immediately obey her: tell her all will be ready by the time she sends to me. And—stay a bit. Have you any Christian name besides Anne?" "My name is Anne Ursula." "And what was your father's name? And what your mother's?" "Papa's was Thomas, and mamma's Ursula," I answered, wondering very much. He wrote down the name, asked a few more questions, and then showed me out at the street-door, giving a parting injunction that I was not to forget the words of his message to Mrs. Edwin Barley, and not to mention abroad that I had been to his office. Reaching home without hindrance, I was about to enter the sickroom, when Miss Delves softly called to me from the upper stairs: Mrs. Edwin Barley was sleeping, and must not be disturbed. So I went higher up to take my things off, and Charlotte Delves asked me into her chamber—a very nice one, immediately over Mrs. Edwin Barley's. "Tread softly, my dear. If she can only sleep, it will do her good." I would not tread at all, though the carpet was thick and soft, but sat down on the first chair. Miss Delves was changing her cap. She wore very nice ones always. "Miss Delves, I wish you'd please to tell me. Do you think my aunt will get well?" "It is to be hoped so," was the answer. "But Mr. Edwin Barley is fretting himself to fiddle-strings over it." "Do _you_ think she will?" Miss Delves was combing out her long flaxen curls; bright thick curls they were; very smooth, and of an exceedingly light shade. She twirled two round her finger before she answered. "Yes, I think she will. It is true that she is very ill—very; but, on the other hand, she has youth in her favour." "Is she dangerously ill?" "No doubt. But how many people are there, lying in danger daily, who recover! The worst of it is, she is so excited, so restless: the doctors don't like that. It is not to be wondered at, with this trouble in the house; she could not have fallen ill at a more unfortunate time. I think she has a good constitution." "Mamma used to say that all the Carews had that. They were in general long-lived." Charlotte Delves looked round at me. "Your mamma was not long-lived. She died young—so to say."