I am going to London now, and hope to return reasonably early, as the debate is not likely to last long. I do not feel the cold at all. There ought to be no difficulty in my seeing you to-morrow, and I will manage it. I do not like your having a headache, and you must really take care of yourself and not get up too soon.--Yours always. I am obliged to go up early to attend Labourers' Committee, which meets at eleven to-day to consider its final report. Please send me telegram to House if you can, as I ought to be able to return early this evening. Phyllis is looking after me first rate.--Yours. {228} Parnell was always unselfish and most considerate when I was ill, and once when I was very weak after an illness of some duration he returned home to Eltham in broad daylight in a hansom cab, triumphantly supporting one end of a large couch, the other end of which spread its upholstered length over the roof. This invalid's chair he with the help of my maids, arranged in my sitting-room, adjusting its complicated "rests" with earnest abstraction, after which he led the procession up to my room, and in spite of my amused protests carried me down and placed me on the couch amid cushions and shawls, and spent a happy evening in "watching me" as I lay comfortably on my new possession. In 1884 we ran down to Hastings for a few days in the middle of the Session, when my aunt's old friend came to stay with her and gave me freedom. Parnell delighted in these sudden "run-away" visits to the sea when the House was in full swing of business, and said they braced and freshened him up more than anything else could do. We stayed at the Queen's Hotel, and Parnell revelled in the sudden freedom from politics--casting all thought and care from him as we walked by the sea and gave ourselves up to the enjoyment of the fresh salt air. He was hugely pleased, on going into a shop in Robertson Street for notepaper, to find some embossed with the monogram "K.P." in blue and gold. He declared it was a good omen, and bought me more boxes of it than I could use for many years. He also bought me a little red diary, after long and earnest efforts in selection. Red he did not like much, as he said it was the sanguinary hue of English oppression; but diaries can apparently only be bound in red, green, or purple, and purple was the {229} colour of sorrow, and green the most painful expression of all ill-luck!