"_I am going away, out of England, for a little while, my dearest mother_," George Dallas wrote. "_It is necessary for the transaction of my business; but I did not know it would be so when I last communicated with you. Write to me at the subjoined address: your letter mil be forwarded_." The address given was Routh's, at South Molton-street. The old woman sighed heavily as she read the letter, and then resumed her attendance on her patient. The day waned, the London physician came and went. The household at Poynings learned little of their mistress's state. There was little to be learned. That night a letter was written to George Dallas, by Mrs. Brookes, which was a harder task to the poor old woman than she had ever been called upon to fulfil. With infinite labour, she wrote as follows: "My Dear Master George,--Your letter has come, so I know you are not in England, and I am not sure but that some one else may see this. Your mother is very ill, in consequence of what she has seen in the papers. I do not believe it is as bad as it seems, though how bad that is, thank God, no one but your mother and I know, or can ever know, I hope and trust. Think of all the strongest and most imploring things I could say to you, my own dear boy, if it was safe to say anything, and if you can put us out of suspense, by writing, not to her, not on any account to her, but to me, do so. But if you can't, George--and think what I feel in saying that _if_--keep away, don't let her hear of you, don't let her think of you in danger. Anyhow, God save, and help, and forgive you. "Your affectionate old Nurse, "ELLEN."