Granny Carlyle rallied considerably, and they all began to hope that she might be spared to them yet. But it was only a temporary rally; and Faith and the little ones had been home but a few days when a telegram came from Farbridge, asking that Audrey might come at once, and, instead of starting for Ilfracombe for a week or two's stay before the Vivians left there too, Audrey went on a very, very different visit, one that none knew the end of, for old Mrs. Carlyle was in that state that she might live for years, or for only a few weeks or days. Never, in all her life after, did Audrey forget that journey on that hot August day. The sun poured in at the window on her, the smuts came in in showers, the compartment felt like an oven, and the hot air was heavy with the mingled odours of blistering paint, coal smoke, and tar. At every station at which they stopped the engine panted like an exhausted thing. The sight of beds of scarlet geraniums glowing in the sun ever after brought back to Audrey the sights, sounds, and sensations of that hot summer afternoon. But at last the journey was over, and Audrey, feeling almost as though she was walking in a dream, crossed the well-remembered park--where the only change was that the grass was now burnt brown, and summer flowers took the place of the tulips and daffodils she had left behind her--and entered once more the orderly, roomy house which was so little changed that she might have gone out from it only the day before, except that now the moving spirit was gone, and the silence was not restful, as of old, but oppressive. Phipps met her, with tears in her eyes. "Perhaps you would like to go to your room first, Miss Audrey. Are you very hot and tired, miss?" "I think I am," said Audrey wearily, "but that is nothing. How is granny now, Phipps?" But Phipps only shook her head, and the tears brimmed over. "I can't say she is any better, Miss Audrey, and--and I won't say she is worse, I can't bring myself to," and Phipps began to sob aloud. "Poor Phipps!" said Audrey in a choky voice. "Is she as bad as that!" She knew what it all meant for Phipps. If Granny Carlyle died, her home of forty years was gone from her. For the first time in her life Audrey realised what we all come to realise as we grow older--that the sorrowfulness of death is not with those who go, but with those who are left behind. "I shall lose everything," sobbed Phipps, "everything I care for. My dear mistress, my home--everything, and I shall never be happy in another." "Oh, poor Phipps!" cried Audrey, genuinely troubled. What could one do or say to comfort such sorrow! But her sympathy comforted Phipps a little, and she cheered up somewhat. "If you will come down when you are ready, miss, I will have tea waiting for you," she said as she left the room, "and after tea the mistress would like to see you."